


Take my pride, Take my life, Take my body, but don't take the ones that I love

by BedlamAtDawn, FunkyRacoon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Alpha Talia Hale, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bisexual Allison Argent, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Blow Jobs, Derek Hale Gets Therapy, Evil Talia Hale, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Good Alpha Peter Hale, Good Friend Allison Argent, Good Peter Hale, Jackson Whittemore is a Hale, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Malia Tate is a Hale, Mates Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Past Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Past Rape/Non-con, Peter Hale Deserves Good Things, Peter Hale Gets Therapy, Peter Hale is Derek Hale's Parent, Peter Hale is Jackson Whittemore's Parent, Peter Hale is Malia Tate's Parent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scent Marking, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stallison Friendship, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, Trauma, True Mates, Victoria Argent is a bitch, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolf Mates, derek hale deserves good things, flashbacks to rape, mentions of mpreg, season one rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 392,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BedlamAtDawn/pseuds/BedlamAtDawn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyRacoon/pseuds/FunkyRacoon
Summary: Stiles thinks about what he learnt.Derek arrived the morning after Laura had been partly found, Stiles and Scott had just ran into him on his first day back, so unless there is some other werewolf in town then the only other werewolf in Beacon Hills at the time of Laura's death was Peter.Stiles thinks part of Derek knows the only suspect is his uncle, but he can't face it and really Stiles doesn't blame him.But someone has to face it, someone has to confront him because people are dying, the Argent's are hunting, and his dad is in the middle of it all.It's that that makes Stiles speed over to where Peter's being kept instead of the ruin that Derek calls home and beg the older and scary man for forgiveness.It's stupid, it's reckless, but Stiles has to do this now.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Lydia Martin, Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Victoria Argent, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 121
Kudos: 671





	1. Chapter One, "I am the Alpha. I've always been the Alpha!"

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This chapter (and the rest of the story) will deal with things that can be a trigger to some people. This story will have mentions of rape, abuse, and such, and such.

Stiles is an asshole, it's a character trait he's well aware of, and he used it well against Jackson when he's been a dick to Scott throughout the years, but he isn't a complete and utter asshole—like how Scott is slowly becoming, a small yet growing louder voice says in the back of his head, but Stiles tries to ignore it—and getting Derek arrested for his sister's murder and not apologising is a complete and utter asshole move.

And really, Stiles would be over there already and apologising until Derek accepts, but Scott told him about the visit to Peter Hale, the third survivor of the Hale family, and how Derek thinks the Argent's did it—with the complete tone of disbelief in his voice which makes Stiles want to shake him because it seems Scott completely forgot that Mr Argent shot him with a crossbow!!—and he can't help but turn the recent murders and their connection to the Hale family and their fiery death in his mind.

Each person already killed had been connected to the Fire, it was obviously a revenge case, and he didn't think Derek is the killer, but he does believe the killer is a Hale. Out of the three survivors; Laura is dead, Derek is angrily grieving, and Peter's supposedly comatose.

Stiles thinks about what he learnt.

Derek arrived the morning after Laura had been partly found, Stiles and Scott had just ran into him on his first day back, so unless there is some other werewolf in town then the only other werewolf in Beacon Hills at the time of Laura's death was Peter.

Stiles thinks part of Derek knows the only suspect is his uncle, but he can't face it and really Stiles doesn't blame him.

But someone has to face it, someone has to confront him because people are dying, the Argent's are hunting, and his dad is in the middle of it all.

It's that that makes Stiles speed over to where Peter's being kept instead of the ruin that Derek calls home and beg the older and scary man for forgiveness.

It's stupid, it's reckless, but Stiles has to do this now.

* * *

It's stupidly easy to get to Peter's room, like really, _really_ , easy that Stiles almost cringes.

The werewolf is under his own name and doesn't have any restriction on visitors, and Stiles is wondering why no Hunter had come and killed Peter yet, and then he catches sight of Peter Hale and he understands.

 _It would be a mercy_ , Stiles realises as he stares at Peter propped up like a doll or a puppet in his wheelchair and blankly staring out of the window, _it would be a kindness and for all their humanity, Hunters' weren't kind._

Perhaps it's because they are human that they are able to be so cruel, so merciless, Stiles thinks as he walks over to the werewolf.

How horrible must it be for a werewolf to be trapped in their own body? To be betrayed by the failing of it? To be weak and defenseless? It would enough to drive anyone mad.

Stiles steps in front of Peter and waves his hand in front of the man's burn-scarred face, nothing. He clicks his fingers beside Peter's ear, not a flinch.

Stiles frowns, a niggle of doubt beginning to take root, before lunging forward and slamming his hands down on the armrests of the wheelchair.

Peter stares vacantly forward, no reaction.

"Oh, _you're_ good," Stiles squints at him. "But I'm on to you, okay? I know it has to be you."

Stiles stands up and then paces in front of Peter.

"At first we thought it was Derek, I mean he sort of gives off that vibe? Living in the ruin of his old house, looming suspiciously, and with that whole brooding and angry look on his face? Oh, and his serial-killer brows! Like, he's the perfect suspect! But the thing is? I don't think he killed his sister, and I don't think he knew they were connected to the Fire," Stiles glances at the expressionless Peter before continuing as he gestures. "I don't think he's looking into the Fire at all, I don't think he has the least idea who to look for, so that means someone else has looked into it, tracked them down. But who would care?"

Stiles turns to look at Peter, "I mean, officially? It's an accident. So, who would care apart from another Hale? But Laura and Derek both ran, and you were the only Hale left behind. I think you're more healed than you look, I think you've been tracking them down, the people that killed your family."

"I get that, I get the revenge," Stiles tells him as he watches Peter intently, waiting for the slightest flinch. "What I don't get is Laura. Why kill your own niece? You're doing this for your family, to get them justice, so why kill one of your last family members?"

Stiles crosses his arms and taps idly at his biceps as he stares at Peter.

"And how did you kill her? No offense, but you're not exactly in top-shape, and she was an Alpha, an Alpha who had a Pack while you've been reduced to an injured Omega. It seems simple that she would win which means either two things. You attacked her and caught her off-guard or she didn't fight back."

There, a twitch to a finger.

"That brings us back to why though. Why attack Laura? And I've come up for two reasons. One, you didn't recognise her until it was too late. It's has been six-years after all. But I'm leaning for option two," Stiles leans forward, looking Peter straight in his blue-eyes. "You were angry with her. She was your Alpha after your family died, and she left you, left you alone, hurt and defenseless under your own name, and she didn't once come back.

She left you to heal bit by bit alone, to stew in your anger, in your need for revenge. You must have done something, something that made her come back, and it was a full moon, when you're probably at your strongest still.

You came across her, you recognised her, and you were angry. You wanted her to feel some of how you felt; hurt, angry and betrayed. So, you attacked," a twitch to his eye, "but I don't think you expected to win, it wasn't meant to kill her. But she didn't fight back, she didn't fight back, and you accidentally kill her. You didn't mean to, but it doesn't matter. She's dead and now you are the Alpha, an Alpha without a Pack and that's even worse than being Omega, isn't it?

You needed a Pack, quickly, to stabilise you with your new power, to make your stronger when you take your revenge. And you come across a lost teenager."

Stiles watches Peter steadily, "It must have felt like fate, you bit him, your first Beta. I bet you figured it would be easy to bring him into the Pack, to make him accept you as Alpha. But Scott didn't, he hasn't accepted anything, and the power is consuming you, making you reckless. You _need_ a Beta, or you are as good as dead when the Argents finally catch on."

"You are a clever boy, aren't you?" Peter finally speaks, blinking his blue-eyes that turn red as Stiles watches.

"Yeah, my teachers always said so anyway," Stiles quips as he tries to pretend his heart isn't thundering in his chest.

Peter brings his hands up clasp his fingers together, “So what are you going to do, Stiles? Are you going to call your little Beta friend and my depressed nephew over so they can kill me?”

Stiles snorts, “What do you think I am, an idiot? Scott’s probably busy shoving his tongue down Allison’s throat right now or dealing with teenage angst. And Derek’s probably brooding in the Hale house and is angry at me for accusing him of murdering his sister. So there’s no one here to save me, not that I _need_ to be saved.”

“You seem very sure of yourself. I could kill you right now you know?” Peter throws the blankets off of him as he stands up out of the wheelchair, coming closer to tower over Stiles, the half burnt side of his face looking like something out of a horror game from where he’s standing in the shadows.

“But you won’t hurt me.”

The Alpha tilts his head to the side like he’s staring down at a cute little kitten trying to bite him, “And why is that?”

“Because you’re going to give me the bite.”

"What?" Peter's face slacks with surprise as he stares at Stiles.

"You're going to give me the bite," Stiles repeats as he taps his thigh anxiously. "You need a Beta. Scott won't give into you, not with Allison in the picture and Derek can't face the truth, not yet. You're being reckless, the Argents are already hunting and shown they are willing to shoot at everything that moves, and _my_ dad is smack in the middle of the supernatural showdown that's coming.

Personally, I don't really care one way or another about becoming a werewolf. From what I've seen? A lot more cons on the list than pros, but I care about my dad, I care about Scott and I kinda owe Derek from getting him arrested. If that means I have to take the bite to stop you from going crazier and getting yourself killed—possibly with two out of the three people I've listed with you—then come on," Stiles rolls up top and bares his side, just where Scott had been bitten. "Drop those fangs, Balto, and nom away, just not really, more of a tiny turning bite? And if I pass out? Don't shame me, okay?"

Peter stares at him for a long moment before throwing back his head and laughing.

"Now you're making me feel awkward," Stiles huffs as he crosses his arms almost grumpily over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Peter covers his face as he continues to laugh, “I have just never seen someone who didn’t want to be a werewolf more willing to take the bite. You are certainly an interesting person, Stiles. I think I’m going to have fun with you in my Pack.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mea—OW!” Stiles lifts a hand to cover his mouth as he screams, his eyes have gone wide as he stares at where Peter bit him on his wrist.

Blood oozing out of the wound and for a moment Stiles feels nauseous at the sight, but is snapped out of it when Peter grabs a towel off his table and covers Stiles’ arm.

“You bit my arm, why?” he holds back the pain he feels as he says this.

“When making a Beta there are certain areas a werewolf will bite. On the side is when they need a Beta but don’t really want them, like what I did with Scott. If I had known how terrible of a Beta he would have turned out to be, I would have just ignored him,” Peter explains, patting the towel down a little as he waits for the blood to clot. “Biting on the arm is the Alpha’s way as seeing their new Beta that they have their respect and trust.”

“What about on the neck?” Stiles tries to not feel weirdly giddy about the fact Peter respects him.

“That is if I wanted to take you as my mate,” Peter smirks.

“Oh, ew. Sorry, I’m sure you’re really handsome but I like my men less elderly and homicidal, so no offense or anything.”

“None taken, I prefer my men older and with a bit more muscles on their figure,” Peter grins, checking the wound and smiling when he sees it already closing which means Stiles has accepted the bite.

"Oh, wow, that's both cool and gross," Stiles blinks at his wrist, and Peter looks at him almost worriedly.

"Are you alright?" Peter asks with a frown as he looks back at the bite.

"Sure," Stiles waves his free hand. "I'm just, you know, going to pass out now?"

"Wha—" before Peter can finish the word, one-hundred-and-forty-seven pounds of teenage boy tumbles straight into his arms, and Peter stares down at him in surprise. "This isn't what I meant when I once asked for pretty and handsome men to fall into my arms."

There's no comment from his new Beta—and he tries to keep the giddy grin from his lips, he really does—and Peter almost pouts before shifting until his Beta is cradled in his arms and looks around his barren room with a wrinkled nose.

"This calls for a change of plans," Peter decides as he moves over to the window and pulls it open, easily stepping out with his 'burden'.

 _Having such a willing Beta truly makes a difference_ , Peter notes as he walks around to the building and towards the carpark, noticing the old baby-blue Jeep that smells of his Beta and heading towards it without a care.

Peter already feels stronger, more clear-minded, and he grimaces as he realises the boy, Stiles he remembers, had been right. He _had_ been getting reckless.

"Let's see what your clever mind comes up with next," Peter hums as he holds Stiles with one arm and rummages for his keys.

* * *

Stiles wakes up to a really comfortable couch that he’s pretty sure he doesn’t own, or have the money to afford unless he wanted to go bankrupt.

“What the—“ he jerks awake and sits up immediately, his vision going a little spotty as he moved too fast.

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” Peter grins from where he’s sitting in a leather arm chair across from Stiles, a book that looks older than dirt in his hands.

“What happened?” Stiles rubs at the back of his head.

“Well, I gave you the Bite and then you promptly decided to pass out in my arms like a fair maiden. Quite adorably might I add, do you know your nose twitches like a rabbit when you’re sleeping?” Peter smirks when Stiles’ cheeks go red with embarrassment. “Good news, the Bite took, and you aren’t going to die.”

“Oh, okay cool, so I’m like a werewolf now?” Stiles glances down at his arm, marvelling in how his skin doesn’t even have a scratch on it.

“Oh, that was the bad news.”

“What?!”

“Congratulations, Stiles. You’re not a werewolf. Unfortunately, I have no idea what you are,” Peter grins at the flailing teenager in front of him.

"What do you mean I'm _not_ a werewolf!" Stiles flails as Peter watches him in great amusement. "You just send the bite _took_!"

"And yet here we are," Peter gestures with a hand to their surroundings, which is frankly a very luxurious apartment smelling slightly stuffy and a bit dusty with most of the furniture covered by white sheets and the windows thrown open despite it being freaking _January!_ "You are still you, no claws or fangs to speak of. Which is a shame considering you would make a wonderful wolf."

"So, what?!" Stiles demands. "I let you bite me! _Bite me!_ And it means nothing?"

"No, I wouldn't say that," Peter closes the book and puts it to the side on a lovely and antique looking table. "We're Pack, there's no mistaking that, and we now know you are something, something _else_."

Stiles frowns as he leans forward, "How can you know we're Pack?"

Peter smirks at him making Stiles narrow his eyes before something in his chest feels like it's been tugged and Stiles gasps as he stares at Peter.

"Because we have a Pack bond," Peter lets his eyes bleed red in victory.

Yes, it is a disappointment that Stiles isn't a wolf and would never be able to keep up on a proper hunt under the light of the moon, but he's _still_ strong despite seeming plainly human.

Stiles' bond to him has strengthen him beyond what he thought possible, cleared his mind in a way that not even the Alpha-spark had, and let him see just how reckless he had been acting, how much danger he had put both himself and his poor lost nephew in—oh, and the Beta he bit, he supposes he mustn't forget him considering Stiles seems mightily attached to him.

And Stiles presents a mystery! A mystery just for _him_ to solve!

"You are a gift that just keeps giving, aren't you?" Peter grins at him, and Stiles looks almost flatly at him, calm despite lingering fear, and confident in his place before Peter despite everything.

"What can I say?" Stiles says dryly. "I'm a giver."

Peter laughs.

“Well then let me repay you with these,” Peter waves a hand over the mountain of books on the table.

Immediately, Stiles’ eyes zone in on the books and he’s sitting on the edge of the couch.

“What uh-what are these?” He asks, reaching over to gentle trace over the cover of one of the books, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Books I recovered before the fire, they’re chalk full of all the werewolf knowledge and lore I’d knew you’d like to read,” Peter grins as he scents Stiles’ excitement in the air. “Along with a few other things to read up on while I get you something to eat. You look like a starved kitten someone threw out on the streets.”

Stiles gives him a look for his word usage and then glances down at himself, “I am not starved looking, I’m just lithe.”

“You mean a few meals short of being toothpick skinny,” Peter snorts before standing up out of his seat and then taking off his shirt.

“Hey, woah, woah! I did not consent to this!” Stiles covers his face with his hand.

“Relax,” Peter tosses his nice red V-neck at Stiles’ lap. “Put that on, I need you to smell like Pack more. It’s a werewolf thing.”

He grins to himself when Stiles gives him a look and actually follows through with it.

Peter frowns when he sees how tiny Stiles looks in his clothes, yes he was certainly going to have to take over his new Beta’s meal intake. This boy needed to eat if he wanted to keep up with the wolves.

Peter turns away with a growing frown as he pokes around his kitchen and making sure the groceries he had recently ordered were there and put away properly.

Surely a teenage boy is meant to be bigger?

 _He's wearing my shirt over two of his own, and yet still looks tiny_ , Peter frowns as he thinks back to when Derek was a teenager.

Derek had been around the same height, though much younger, if Peter recalls correctly, but he had more muscle and a good layer of fat on him due to the meals the Pack shared. Though he had been putting on more muscle and losing fat near the Fire...

Peter scowls as he collects what he needs for a nice and filling pasta-bake, and he remembers just why Derek began pushing himself more in training and self-training.

No doubt _she_ would come swanning back to town soon enough if the Argent's were truly here.

He'd have to collect Derek soon, the house wasn't safe for him to stay if _that woman_ is coming, Peter knows as he puts on the water for the pasta.

He'd rather Derek not have to face _her_ again, and he's certain his newest—and best, he privately adds—Beta would agree if Peter gave him enough to put the clues together.

Truthfully, Peter didn't know much of Derek's...... _.relationship_ with _her_ , but what he pieced together both then and since, well, Peter is going to make her death very slow.

He chops the tomatoes almost roughly as he broods—a habit he truly doesn't want to fall into, it's best suited for those with the face for it, like Derek.

If Talia had just listened for once, had just _trusted_ him, then she would still be alive, and Derek would have been unharmed from _her_. But no, Talia didn't have to listen to her Left-Hand because the _"Alpha always knows best"._

Peter used to hate that holier-than-thou voice that she would put on and thread through with her Alpha power, and truthfully? He doesn't miss that about his sister.

Peter shakes his head angrily and focuses on the soothing sound of his Beta behind him.

He had enough of drowning in his memories for a lifetime, it's best to focus on the present and the future.

* * *

Stiles gets so lost in reading as much as he can about werewolf lore and _magic_ , he doesn’t even realize the front door is slamming open.

Peter, with his Alpha instincts suddenly going off with alarms in his head, stops what he’s doing and stalks his way to the living room, eyes going red as he gets ready for a fight.

The only reason his wolf doesn’t maul the man walking into his apartment is because he recognizes it as his dear nephew.

Derek looks at the couch where Stiles is sitting, six books open in front of him as he skips and jumps over each one, eyes reading the pages faster than he’s ever seen someone read before, and never noticing the werewolf's presence. His wolf catches sight of _Peter’s_ shirt on the human and he loses the last string of control he had when he found out his Uncle possibly kidnapped the Sheriff’s son.

“Peter,” he growls.

“Nephew,” the older man tilts his head in greeting and smirks.

 _He’s mine_ , Derek snarls, crouching down low and getting ready for a fight. His wolf taking full control of his mind as he challenges the Alpha before him.

Peter can’t stop the way the shift follows after when Derek snarls at him, both of the wolves growling and posturing at one another as they wait for the other one to pull back.

The only thing that breaks their challenge is when they hear Stiles sneeze from over at the couch.

Both of them turn to watch as the teenager rubs his nose and shakes himself a little before going back to reading.

“We can share,” Peter compromises.

“Fine,” Derek grunts, taking his leather jacket off and placing it over Stiles’ shoulders, gently so he doesn’t disturb the boy’s focus.

Stiles absently tugs the jacket further around him as he reads, and Peter jerks his head towards the kitchen.

Derek storms pass him angrily, and Peter rolls his eyes as he turns to follow his nephew.

"I see you found us," Peter starts as he goes back to stirring the sauce. "You may grate the cheese."

Derek huffs angrily for a moment before grudgingly giving in and grabbing both the cheese and grater, "Do you know the whole Sheriff's Department is out looking for you?"

"I'm flattered," Peter says almost demurely as he tastes his sauce before checking on the pasta. "I suppose they are concerned a recently comatose person has suddenly left."

"I think they are mostly concerned by you kidnapping the Sheriff's son," Derek says dryly, and he feels satisfied when Peter stills.

"Ah," Peter blinks down at the sauce before adding some basil. "I forgot he's the Sheriff's son."

"What the fuck are you doing, Peter?" Derek demands in a low and angry voice, and Peter casts him a pout.

"What? No uncle?"

"You killed Laura!" Derek snaps, voicing what he realised the moment he realised _Peter and Stiles_ were gone, and was confirmed with the blood-red of Peter's wolf eyes, and Peter stills again, smelling of regret and guilt.

"She...it was a mistake," Peter stumbles somewhat over his words, he hadn't given much thought how to explain. "I was angry, she _left_ me, but she didn't fight back, Derek. _She didn't fight back_."

Peter's words are heavy with regret and guilt, grief burdens his shoulders, and his heart remained steady as he spoke, and some of the tension leeches out of Derek's body at the truth.

Derek isn't truthfully sure what he would have done if Peter had killed Laura just for her power.

But he doesn't know what to do with _this_ truth.

If Peter killed her for power, if he was insane with power, Derek eventually would have worked up the will and strength to kill him.

But _this_?

Knowing that Laura could have saved herself, but _didn't_?

Knowing that Peter had thought she would defend herself, but _she_ _didn't_?

Knowing that Laura had left Derek by _her own choice_?

It breaks something in Derek, that his sister could have lived and just gave up instead.

Peter reaches out to comfort his nephew but instead gets blue eyes and fangs thrown his way, he pulls his hands back, and watches as Derek digs his claws into the palm of his hands until they start to bleed.

His _nephew_ , the sweet boy he remembered, was no longer there and had been ruined and covered over with the ghost of a man full of emptiness and trauma.

Peter supposes it was his own fault for trying to comfort him so early when Derek hadn’t even accepted him as his Alpha yet.

But the ache in his chest to comfort the last of his family burns inside of Peter’s chest.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked if it was okay to touch you,” Peter says when he sees Derek has calmed himself down.

“It’s fine. Let’s just finish making this and then get Stiles to explain to his dad you _didn’t_ kidnap him,” Derek grumbles, throwing the cheese on top of the pasta-bake.

“Ah yes, speaking of Stiles—“

“What did _you do_.”

Scoffing, Peter slides the dish into the oven before setting the timer, “Don’t be so rash, I just gave him the bite.”

“You did **what**!” Derek roars, pushing Peter up against the wall and flashing blue-eyes again.

How could this man do this? Hasn’t he already taken enough from Derek? Why would he try to take away Stiles!

“Relax, he’s fine, Derek. However, he isn’t a werewolf, as disappointed as I was to find that out.”

"You bit him!" Derek snarls again, dropping Peter and rushing back to Stiles.

Stiles startles and flails as strong hands grab him and push him back against the couch before slipping under his shirts and basically groping him.

"Wait! _Wait_! I did not consent to this Peter! I did not— _Derek_?" Stiles stops his yelping and flailing as he stares up at Derek's thunderously unhappy and, Stiles squints slightly, _worried_ face.

"Where did he bite you?" Derek asks urgently, hands—surprisingly, soft hands, Stiles notes absently—move up and cup his jaw as he twists Stiles' neck and leans down to sniff at his neck.

"Why are you sniffing? Why are you worried? It's fine, it healed!" Stiles thrusts his wrist in front of Derek's face, and watches in bemusement as Derek cradles his wrist as some tension leaves his face and shoulders.

"You're very concerned about me claiming him as a mate," Peter muses as he leans against the archway to the kitchen, his blue-eyes narrowed and thoughtful. "In fact, you're very concerned about him in general."

Derek stiffens, his face going blank, and Stiles blinks as he stares between the two werewolves before turning to his Alpha—and the werewolf more likely to answer his questions with words and not glares.

"Why do I get the feeling _this_ ," Stiles gestures to how close Derek is and curled over Stiles the werewolf is, "is something very important and something I may or may not freak out about?"

"Because if I am right," Peter says thoughtfully as he watches Derek do his best impression of a statue and guard-dog at the same time, "it _is_."

"So, what do you think it—"

" **No** ," Derek snaps forcefully as he drops Stiles' wrists and steps hurriedly away as if Stiles is about to burst into flames or something, and turns to scowl at Peter. "It's _nothing_."

"We both know that's a lie, Pup," Peter crosses his arms as he watches Derek. "And a rather poor one at that."

 **"Shut up!"** Derek roars as his eyes flash.

Stiles jumps with a yelp and Derek flinches, hunching in on himself as if Stiles had hit him, and Stiles looks at him wide-eyed while Peter's expression becomes more sympathetic.

"Derek," Peter begins softly, and Derek covers his ears as he shakes his head violently.

"No."

“Derek?”

The older man flinches at Stiles’ voice, looking up at him with electric-blue-eyes.

“Hey, I’m not gonna touch you, big guy,” Stiles says softly, “Are you okay?”

“Why do you care? Earlier you just got me arrested for murdering my sister,” Derek snarls at him.

“I know, and that was really shitty of me. But I know you’re not a murderer Derek, I know you’re a good person,” Stiles tells him honestly, his heart never skipping as he spoke.

The timer on the oven goes off and Peter uses that as an excuse to move the conversation along, “So, pasta-bake anyone?”

“When did you make dinner?” Stiles glances down at himself, “When did I get Derek’s leather jacket? Wait, when did Derek get here?”

Both Hale’s roll their eyes before turning to move to the kitchen, Stiles calling after them as he tries to pull the answers out of the wolves but neither of them answer back.

“Assholes,” Stiles mumbles, falling back down on the couch.

He gives a glance over to the kitchen and then lifts the leather jacket up to inhale Derek’s lingering scent on it, calming down at the heady scent of warm vanilla and _Derek_.

* * *

"You should tell him," Peter says quietly as he serves up great helpings of pasta-bake onto three plates.

"No," Derek says without looking as he fills three glasses with water and gets the cutlery, his movements filled with familiarity as he remembers the days he would come and visit Peter here when they both wanted to get away from the house for a while.

"He's going to figure it out," Peter tells him, and Derek glares before Stiles stumbles into the kitchen and over to kitchen table the two werewolves have set up.

"Oh, that looks nice," Stiles rubs his hands as he comes over and takes a chair. "I'm impressed, at least one of you knows how to look after yourself."

"Excuse me?" Derek bites out as he drops into his chair while Peter snickers softly.

"Really? You're going to play the offended card?" Stiles gives him a look before stabbing some of the pasta. "You live in the ruin of your old house, you obviously don't know how to look at yourself."

 _And possibly have self-flagellation problems_ , Stiles manages not to say by stuffing himself with pasta and cheese.

"That will no longer be a problem," Peter breaks in smoothly, smiling as Derek glares at him suspiciously. "Derek can move in with me, I'm certain his old room is still untouched."

Derek stiffens slightly as he stabs at the pasta, it had been a long time since he stepped into the room Peter always kept for Derek, long before the fire, when Derek was with _her_.

Derek hadn't liked the looks Peter would shoot him after Derek got home from visiting her, he knew his uncle would have attempted to convince him to stop if he stayed with him, so Derek didn't, and his mother always cut Peter off when it looked like Peter was going to confront him.

Perhaps things would have been better if Peter had confronted him, perhaps Derek wouldn't have fallen completely and stupidly in love with a woman who lied to him and killed his family, perhaps then his family would still be alive and not dead because of him.

Stiles ignores the shared look that passes between the Hale’s if they wanted him to know, they would have told him already.

Enjoying the hot meal in front of him, Stiles is reminded he hasn’t texted his dad or Scott since he went to the elderly care center to talk with Peter.

“Hey, where did you put my phone?” Stiles glances around, “I almost forgot to text my dad I wasn’t going to be home until later.”

“Ah, about that,” Peter takes a mouthful of hot pasta-bake, so he doesn’t have to finish the conversation.

“Peter...what happened?”

“Your dad might have a missing alert out for you, as the last time anyone saw you was an ex-coma patient walking out of the hospital with you in his arms,” Derek tries to explain lightly.

“Oh....oh no...no, no, no. Shitshitshitshit! Peter, where’s my phone! Oh no, my dad is going to kill me!” Stiles scrambles, “Well first HE’S probably going to kill you guys and _then_ he’s going to kill me!”

“We could always run away, I hear Canada is nice this time of year,” Peter suggests, “Why stay in this shitty town when we can all just run away together? Like a big family.”

Stiles actually pauses and stares at Peter in disbelief.

"I thought me becoming a Beta would stop him being crazy," Stiles looks at Derek for an explanation, and the werewolf snorts into his glass of water while Peter pouts.

"That's just mean to your Alpha," Peter informs Stiles making the supposed human rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, now where's my phone?" Stiles demands as Peter gestures back to the living-room.

"On the side-table with your keys," Peter finally tells him, and Stiles almost slips as he runs from the kitchen. "Already I've lost his respect."

"Did you even have his respect?" Derek cocks a sceptical brow at his uncle, and Peter huffs as he grumbles into his pasta.

* * *

Stiles grimaces as he notices the number of missed calls he's had from his dad—fifty-five—and oh, _wow_ , a whole five from Scott, and too many texts for him to count from his dad and about twenty from Scott.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles dials his dad's phone and it barely rings before his dad is picking up.

"Stiles!" his dad's voice has a frustrated edge to it that he's heard a dozen times before, but with a more frantic way of speaking that he's _not_ used too. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

"Dad!" Stiles interrupts before he really gets going in his questions. "I'm fine, completely and utterly fine."

 _Apart from not being a werewolf or really human_ , Stiles finishes in his head.

"Where's Peter Hale?" his dad demands, and Stiles hesitates as he peers back into the kitchen where Peter's pouting while eating.

"Err," Stiles hedges. "Now before you get mad, or more mad, I thought I'd let you know he didn't kidnap me."

"Really?" his dad asks dryly. "So, I suppose he just carried you around in his arms and to your Jeep for fun after waking up from his coma?"

"Well, I passed out," Stiles begins before cringing.

"You _passed_ out? Why? What happened? Why did you even go to see him in the first place?"

"I, err, well, those are very good questions," Stiles says with a nod.

“Son, just tell me where you’re at. Are you safe?” he can hear the worry in his dad’s voice, and it makes something in Stiles’ chest clench.

“Yeah, dad. I’m fine. I promise, I’m safe. Peter isn’t a crazy lunatic trying to kidnap me, I swear,” Stiles glances over at the Alpha, covering his speaker so he can ask, “Can I tell my dad where we’re at or is this a werewolf secret thing I don’t know about?”

“You can tell him,” Peter nods his head, “Besides I’m sure the hospital has some questions about my sudden disappearance.”

“Okay, cool,” Stiles tells his dad the address to Peter’s apartment and then talk for a bit more until his father tells him he’s almost there and hangs up.

Stiles glances at the text from Scott, making a face when he sees them before simply setting his phone back down on the table.

Coming back to the kitchen table, Stiles pokes at his pasta-bake for a while before giving in and starting to eat the meal again, trying not to let the anxiety stop him from eating.

Seeing both of his Beta’s eating the meal he provided makes something settle inside of Peter and he can’t help but preen when Stiles compliments the food.

Only for the whole room to freeze when a loud knock comes from the door.

“I’ll get it,” Peter grins, stopping Stiles from getting out of his seat. “The both of you finish your dinner.”

Peter gets up and heads to his door and opens it with a welcoming smile, "Ah, Noah, what a delight to see you again."

"Hale," Noah greets shortly, blue-grey-eyes narrowed. "Show me my son before I put a bullet in you."

"Really? After all our history?" Peter places a hand on his chest in mock hurt, and Noah stares at him flatly.

"It's because of our _history_ that I'm warning you," Noah informs him flatly, and Peter twitches his lips into a smile as he steps back and gestures for him to come in.

"Stiles," Noah calls out the moment he steps into the apartment, and Stiles almost sends the chair flying back as he stands up quickly.

"Dad!" Stiles says as he hurries over, and Noah pulls Stiles into a hug by the back of his son's neck and presses a kiss to the side of Stiles' head.

"You're okay," Noah's eyes shut with relief as he holds his son close to him. " _You're okay_."

"Dad, I told you I was fine," Stiles tells him as he hugs his dad back. "I promise, Peter didn't kidnap me."

"He removed you from where you were, unconscious and without consent," Noah reminds him roughly as he glares as Peter, unconcerned, heads back into the kitchen and sits beside his recently released from custody nephew.

 _Why aren't I surprised by Derek Hale being somehow involved with this?_ Noah wonders dryly as he lets his protesting son go with one last squeeze.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," Stiles protests as Noah keeps one hand on Stiles' shoulder, trying not to shake him when he sees the half-eaten plate of food—how many times did Noah tell him not to eat food any kidnapper gives him?! "I'm _fine_ , we're both fine, and there was no kidnapping."

"Why were you even there? And—" Noah's questions stall as he finally notices that his son is wearing a red V-neck shirt, a V-neck he didn't own and probably belonged to the shirtless Peter Hale, and Noah pushes Stiles behind him as he glares at Peter. "What the hell _did_ you do to my son?!"

"Dad!" Stiles yelps.

“What kind of weird sex cult do you think you’re going to drag my son into?” Noah growls, putting his hand on his holster just in case he needed to use it.

Peter rolls his eyes, smirking a little when he hears Derek choking in the kitchen.

“Oh please, it’s not a sex cult.”

Noah raises an eyebrow, “But it’s a cult.”

“Less cult, but it does involve the occult,” Peter lets his eyes burn red, “Or in this case, werewolves.”

“Werewolves,” Noah says with disbelief.

Peter nods his head, “Yes, werewolves.”

“Werewolves?”

“Werewolves.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just—am I hearing this right? Did you seriously say werewolves?”

Peter rolls his eyes, “I’ve been saying it for the past two minutes so yes, I did in fact say werewolves.”

“And my son is a werewolf? Did-did you force him to be one?!”

“Dad!”

“No, but I will be forcing him to sign the adoption papers.”

"Peter!" Stiles glares at his Alpha. "You're not helping!"

"But I'm not lying," Peter says calmly as he lets the red leave his eyes and keeps his eyes on Noah. "You're part of my Pack, I've adopted you."

"What does that mean?" Noah keeps Stiles behind him.

"It means that Stiles is mine," Peter shrugs almost idly, and Noah's hand clenches around his gun.

"Oh my god!" Stiles slips out from behind Noah and stands between both men. "You two are adults! So act like it! Sit down, talk it out, figure it out! And come into the kitchen when you're done!"

Stiles stomps pass Peter and sits down beside a vaguely gobsmacked Derek.

"Eat," Stiles encourages as he scoops up another forkful of pasta, and Derek looks at Stiles then at where Peter and Noah are standing frozen, before deciding Stiles had the right idea.

"Well," Peter turns to Noah with a smirk. "It seems we have our orders."

Noah grumbles as he sits gingerly on one of the couches after Peter's gesture and Peter retakes his place on the leather armchair.

"Right," Noah begins, trying to take control of this 'chat' while Peter leans back in his chair and looking smugly at ease. "Let's start at the beginning."

"Do you mean the beginning as today when I first talked to your son or the start of these unfortunate events plaguing our lovely town?" Peter cocks a brow, and Noah rubs a hand over his face.

"Of course, _you're_ involved with it," Noah sighs deeply. "Let's try the second one, gives me more time to get my head around werewolves."

Peter flinches a little with the way Noah says _you’re_ , like Peter was just another bug under his shoe, and it hurts him a little, makes the burns on his face sting some more.

It hurts to lose another person he had considered safe and a friend, but he ignores the pain and the need to curl up on himself, make himself appear smaller so nobody will notice him.

_He’s the Alpha now, and the Alpha does not run._

“Well, Sheriff, this all happened because my lovely dearest sister decided it would be okay to let _her son_ be raped by an older woman. Said older woman who was disguising herself to be a substitute teacher so she could infiltrate the Hale house and burn us all in our sleep,” Peter lays everything out on the table right before him, letting his cards fold to show Noah the truth about what’s going on in this piece of shit of a town.

“You mean the Hale fire,” the man says with a little disbelief in his voice, “So it wasn’t an accident.”

“Of course not, Noah,” Peter laughs, and it sounds a little more deranged even to himself. “Do you seriously think an electrical miswiring could have caused an entire house to burn? Could have led an entire family to lock themselves in the basement? Humans, you never see what’s going on right in front of your eyes.”

“Peter—“

“And after that, I was put into a medical ward for burn victims where I spent year after year slowly healing from my wounds and screaming inside of my head. The cherry on top was when the last of my family decided to ditch my burnt corpse to go live it up in New York, and then only to come back which lead to my niece to be murdered by my own hands because I was fucking insane.”

Derek whines from he’s seated at the table, his stomach no longer able to handle the food that was made for them because Peter _knows_.

Of course he fucking knows, it’s his uncle, Peter was always good at finding things out. Especially when it came to Derek, he always knew when Derek was hurt or sad, or hungry or needed someone to hold him.

But Derek always took a step back when Peter entered the room, especially after Paige. He was a stupid fucking teenager who thought he was in _love_ , he should have listened to Peter, should have ran away from Kate when he had the chance.

“Derek? Hey, what’s wrong, big guy?” Stiles reaches out to touch him but pauses, afraid he’ll make matters worse if he does.

Derek flinches and leans forward, torn between not allowing Stiles to touch him and desperately wanting it.

Derek shouldn't allow it, Derek knows himself. If he allows Stiles to touch him now, to soothe him with comforting touches and words then he'll become greedy, greedy like he always becomes, and need more and _more_ until he proves himself to be exactly like _her_.

And he'll ruin Stiles, ruin him like he always ruins everything or get him killed like he got Paige killed, and he can't do that to him, he _can't_!

He whines harder, louder, hurting and aching, and needing comfort he desperately has deny himself because if he does, if he gives in, he'll just take and _take_ until Stiles is an empty husk of pain and trauma, and it'll be all be _Derek's_ fault.

Hands, warm and slight callous from sports, touch him, burning him through his shirt, and Derek's turning, tumbling forward until his head hits Stiles' shoulder and he can tuck his nose against Stiles' neck, and he shudders and trembles with another whine as he takes deep and greedy breaths of Stiles' scent with a hint of his own scent mixed it.

It's awful, it's wonderful, it's Derek's deepest shame and greatest fantasy, and he should rip himself away from Stiles, run far away from the boy with his quick mind and quicker mouth, who is fearless despite the fear he holds, but then Stiles' holding him, holding him like Derek's something precious, and Derek sobs as he clutches back, and he drags Stiles onto his lap to hold him tight.

 _I'm going to ruin you,_ Derek thinks, but can't bring himself to say as one of Stiles' hands runs through his hair as he makes comforting noises.

Peter is on his feet the second Derek whines, and he hesitates as he almost hears the ghost of Talia.

 _"Leave him,"_ she hisses in his ear, a memory of her claws prickling his shoulders. _"He's **my son** , and he's fine, just trying to get attention."_

Peter wavers, torn, and it's like he can feel Talia's claws in him, in his head.

But Talia isn’t there anymore, she’s _dead. Dead, dead, dead._ Burnt and buried six feet under the ground and isn’t here to hurt or hide Peter anymore when Derek needs someone to comfort him.

Ignoring Noah as he tries to get Peter’s attention, the Alpha stalks his way back into the kitchen. Pausing a little when he sees Stiles comforting Derek, comforting him in a way that Derek needed when he was growing up. He’s only been Pack for a few hours and yet Stiles has taken to being a member in Peter’s Pack like it was something he was born into.

Eyes glowing red as he walks closer, Peter hunches a little in one himself to show he isn’t an enemy as he whines in the back of his throat to get Derek’s attention.

The wolf looks up from where he had his face presses against Stiles’ throat and flashes blue-eyes at Peter, a low growl forming in his throat as he stares at the older man.

The Alpha in him wants to take Derek by the back of the neck and squeeze until he shows his neck and submits, how dare he growl at the Alpha! But his instincts don’t let him do so because even though he’s an Alpha, he’s a parent first.

Peter tilts his head to the side and whines again, which has Derek pause.

There’s a moment in which time feels like it’s frozen and then Derek whines and opens his arm for Peter.

The older wolf takes to it like a starved animal, curling up against Derek’s side and nosing at his throat, his fangs dropping so he can press them against Derek’s neck and claim the young man as _his Beta, his son._

Both the wolves make soft growls and rumbling noises as they scent one another, their attention snapping towards Stiles when he tries to move away.

“ _Mine_ ,” Peter snarls, yanking the teenager into his arms so he can press his fangs to Stiles’ throat as well and rub his cheek over the top of his fluffy buzzcut.

“Uh, okay. This is a little weird, but also nice,” Stiles states as he’s being cuddled by two older men.

Noah watches from the archway as his son is cuddled between both Hale men, and the way Peter's rubbing his cheek against Stiles' head makes his heart clench.

He remembers Peter turning up at his house, newly eighteen and looking _haunted_ as he asks for Claudia.

Claudia, older by Peter by two years and newly married, had herded the young man in and shut them up in room they were planning to turn into a nursey.

He remembers Claudia's fury when Peter was locked away in Eichen House later that year, having to hold her back when she saw Talia later as she goes around town with her newly born son and toddler daughter, the way Claudia had shouted at Talia, and how when Peter comes out the next year, he looks even more haunted when he comes to visit Claudia.

He remembers Peter, twenty and with a list of arrests of drunken behaviour, slinking almost sheepishly into Claudia's hospital room and Claudia handing over Stiles—Mischief, Mieczyslaw—over without hesitation and a sympathetic twist to her smile, and how Peter looked ready to burst into tears as he so carefully rubbed his cheek over Stiles' baby-soft hair.

He remembers arriving to Peter, twenty-nine, thirty, in the hospital and sitting beside Claudia, reading her books and telling her stories as her mind eats away at her until she isn't Claudia anymore.

He remembers Peter, thirty and solemnly dressed in black, as they bury her, the way he tenderly and gently wrapped Stiles into a hug afterwards.

And he remembers Peter, thirty-one, being pulled from the ruins of the Hale house and more burnt than anything, and yet somehow still alive as he calls for Derek, for Cora in a wrecked and smoke-rough voice.

Noah should have visited him, Noah knows, should have visited Claudia's best friend and made sure he was being properly cared for after Laura took Derek and ran or even just looked more seriously at the file, not allowed the official story to stand when he had been elected Sheriff.

But Noah had been grieving, grieving for Claudia, and Stiles had been acting out, being held back a grade, and he had been taking solace in the bottle more than people.

“Feeling better?” Stiles breaks the silence, not wanting to suffocate anymore from Derek’s lone suffering.

The older man just nods his head but doesn’t pull away from where he’s clinging onto Stiles. Not that Stiles minds—however when he thought about Derek clinging to him like this it was in a bed, without an audience and less clothes as well as less crying.

But he’s not going to push the man off when this is clearly the first time in a while he’s been touched.

“It’s okay, puppy,” Peter whispers against the top of Derek’s head, like he used to do when Derek has nightmares as a pup, and Peter would sneak into his room so he could comfort his puppy and whisper sweet bedtime stories until Derek was a sleep again.

He didn’t care if Talia growled at him the next day, his pup didn’t deserve to cry in his bed alone.

Peter looks up and pulls away reluctantly from Derek’s body when he knows the man isn’t going to break on him. Turning back to Noah he sees a steely look of determination in the older man’s eyes, and it has Peter coming towards him with cautious steps.

“ _Who_? Who set the fire, Peter?” The sheriff asks through grinding teeth, the man is about ready to drag the sky to the ground just to make things right.

Not for the Hale’s, he never trust Talia and her too sweet words, but for Peter and Derek. Even if he still has a lot of judgement against the man.

“Kate Argent,” Peter says simply.

“Allison’s aunt?!” Stiles pipes up, his eyes going wide.

Derek stiffens against Stiles, a shudder going through him at the mention of _her_ name.

Stiles absently pats at Derek's shoulder as his mind races.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ , is basically his dominate thought because Allison's Aunt, who Scott says is like her sister, is coming to visit like she always does when the family moves to somewhere new and he bets she wouldn't be happy to hear about Peter being up and about or that Derek is here or perhaps she'd be happy, happy to finish what she started?

Stiles feels sick, a cold sense of panic settling in, because Stiles has seen the pictures, okay?

He's got his own copy of the Hale fire file, and he's seen Kate's work printed out and put down in black and white, and knowing it's not an accident, it looks practised, looks like she's done it before, and he wonders how many other accidental fires he could find linked to a young pretty new teacher joining the nearby school.

"Stiles?" Noah takes a step forward, concern creasing his face as he watches Stiles pale while Peter moves back to place a hand on Derek's trembling back.

"She's coming here," Stiles says through numb lips. "She's coming to visit, Allison told Scott about it."

"What?" Derek rasps, torn between clutching at Stiles tighter and running as far and as fast as he can get from Beacon Hills.

"We'll deal with her," Noah promises and Peter turns to him, blue-eyes bleeding red.

"If you can't get the law too, _I'll_ deal with her," Peter promises darkly.

Talia isn't here anymore to stop him doing everything he can to protect his pup.

Noah stares at Peter steadily, and he reminds himself that despite what the ID Derek carries say, the young man is only _nineteen_ , and he thinks of Stiles at thirteen, just recovering from Claudia's death, still plagued with nightmares and panic-attacks, and he thinks of some woman taking an interest in Stiles, convincing him to do things he wasn't ready for, and he nods.

"We do have a rogue mountain lion around here."

“Oh yes, about that. You might as well tell animal control not to even bother,” a grin curls itself on Peter’s face.

“Let me guess—werewolves,” Noah frowns, a hand coming up to rub at his face.

“Werewolves,” Peter agrees.

“I need a while to process this all, Stiles you are going home—“

Peter and Derek snarl at once, both of them stepping in front of the teenager and flashing their eyes at the sheriff who takes a step back.

“Dude!” Stiles yelps, staring at the two wolves who look like they’re ready to jump his dad. “Not cool!”

“Sorry,” Peter is the first one to pull himself back, Derek a while later, “Stiles is still a freshly new pack member and our wolves don’t like the idea of being separated from him so earlier. Like I said, Stiles is _mine_.”

“Well he’s my son, damnit, Peter,” Noah snaps.

“Yes, and your son is going to be well off and safe here. Where I can watch over him, and make sure he learns what he needs to about being in my Pack,” Peter raises himself up so he can appear taller. “I _need_ my Pack safe, Noah.”

Noah shifts, raises his chin up in defiance but then pulls himself back a little.

He can see the fire in Peter’s eyes, like he’s seconds away from going back to being that deranged monster Noah saw earlier.

Stiles sets a hand on Peter’s shoulder and it’s like something snaps in the man’s head and he’s just a normal man again, no wild animal howling inside of his head as he turns to stare down at the teenager.

“Peter, it’s okay. It’s just my dad, not an enemy,” Stiles tells the older wolf.

“He doesn’t smell like _Pack_. He can’t protect you like I can, Stiles. You’re my Beta, _mine_ ,” Peter growls.

“I know, Peter. It’s okay, I know you’re my Alpha. I know Alpha will keep me safe from the Hunters.”

The Alpha whines at that, the honest truth in Stiles’ words, the trust this kid has in him.

He’s dragging Stiles back into his arms, his wolf wants to bite at his throat to show he trusts him and will keep him safe, but the wolf doesn’t want to be vulnerable in front of a stranger.

Noah blows air out through his nose as he makes his decision, “Stiles can stay the night, but I _will_ be calling hourly to check up on him. And if I don’t hear his voice, I will be bringing the whole station with me.”

"That's a bit over the top," Stiles says before adding hurriedly at the look on his dad's face. "I mean, it's fine, totally fine and completely normal. Lenient even."

"Uh-huh," Noah says as he watches his son before shaking his head. "Couldn't you have fallen into a normal gang or something?"

"You know me, I can't help but go above and beyond," Stiles grins at his dad, and Noah gives him a reluctant twitch of his lips.

"I want you home tomorrow," Noah continues, ignores the slight snarl that curls Derek's lips while Peter seems to hold himself back from doing the same. "You have school on Monday."

"You know, school seems vastly unimportant when it comes to werewolves and Hunters, and—" Stiles cuts himself off at Noah's unimpressed look. "I mean, school, yeah, the most important thing in my life."

Noah snorts, unimpressed and unsurprised, before turning to Peter.

"I am trusting you to keep him safe," Noah tells the younger man. "I'll drop around his things later, he'll need to take his pills and you have to make sure he doesn't accidentally take too many or he'll be up all night reading every book in this apartment."

Stiles opens his mouth to protest before closing it, really, he'd probably try to do it on purpose just to read all the books Peter gave him.

"Of course," Peter nods, and Noah sighs.

"I'll call off the search for both of you, make something up," Noah says finally before looking at Stiles. "Don't stay up all night, okay? If you have homework, make sure you actually complete it."

"Please, I already did everything," Stiles says, he has to do it almost as soon as it's given or otherwise he'll forget about it until it's four am and he has school in a few hours, and he's just surfaced after following a Wikipedia-spiral, and realises he has a mountain of homework to complete.

It may or may not have happened several times in past, and Stiles has learnt from his mistakes.

Noah and Stiles share one last hug before his father finally departs and Stiles is stuck with the Hale’s again, not that he’s bothered by this predicament at all because _books_.

“Well, that was a fun family evening,” Peter grins, although the edges on his control are slowly starting to drop.

 _The Den was invaded by an outsider_ , His wolf snarls inside of his skull. _Ours. Ours. The boy belongs to us. We need to mark him_.

“Stiles, I’m about to do something. Please don’t scream,” Peter says.

Stiles opens mouth to ask, only to freeze when he hears the sound of something akin to bones snapping.

Peter growls and his body shifts and grows, fur covering his entire body as he starts to turn into the Alpha shift, one that he had been using to get around and kill the people who burned his pack.

His face comforts into something between a wolf and a man, and when he’s finished shift, he has to hunch over just to fit in the small apartment height.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breaths as he starts up at Peter’s form, he squeaks when the beast picks him up like he’s a rag doll and takes him into a room with a massive bed in it. “Oh um-okay, this is a little—wow, this is fast. Um, Derek?”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek says, removing himself of his clothes and joining his Alpha and Stiles in the bed.

Curling around Stiles’ smaller form and sniffing at Peter’s fur, he feels the shift over take his features and hopes he doesn’t startle Stiles with how ugly his face looks. “It’s a Pack thing.”

“Huh. Okay then,” Stiles says as he being cuddled by a giant Wolfman on one side, and a naked sexy Wolfman on the other.

 _Okay, this is perfectly normal, just a Pack thing, just a Pack thing where I'm being cuddled by one of the most sexiest men I've ever seen while he's naked. Totally normal, not something to freak out about or get aroused about, specially aroused about because they will totally smell it out, and oh god, don't do this to me_ , Stiles directs the last thought to his traitorous cock as it twitches in his boxers.

Perhaps the jeans will disguise it? Stiles hopes, glad he wears more baggy jeans than most people do, and tries to move his mind to something else.

 _Puppies, puppies are cute and very much not arousing_ , Stiles thinks to himself, but then he remembers Peter calling Derek pup, and then wonders if Derek would like to be called pup when having sex which sends him into a vivid fantasy of him calling Derek a naughty pup as he licks and sucks at Stiles' cock.

Stiles lets out a strangled sound as he feels himself twitch more and he moves his hands to cover his flushing face because he's pretty sure his jeans can't hide his scent of arousal.

"Oh my god," Stiles whimpers as he feels Derek shift against him and feels Peter sniff and huff against his hair. "Be merciful and strike me down now."

"It's fine," Derek says gruffly, trying not to breathe in deep and greedy breaths of the scent of Stiles' arousal—he needs to stop being so greedy. "You're only sixteen, everything turns you on. It's normal."

"Seventeen," Stiles corrects as Peter nuzzles against his hair in an attempt to comfort his destressed Beta. "I'm, uh, actually seventeen."

Peter takes in Stiles’ words, and saves them for later, for when he’s alone with his pup and they can talk about _things_ and such.

“It’s okay, Stiles,” Derek presses a little closer, not wanting to make the teenager suffer in his own humiliation.

Peter makes a soft noise above them, and licks at both of their cheeks, trying to get more of his scent on his two Beta’s before settling down with his head on top of Stiles’ chest.

“Huh,” Stiles says mostly to himself, running his fingers through Peter’s fur like he’s a massive dog, although he’s keeping that comment to himself because he’s pretty sure neither Derek nor Peter would like to be called a dog. “You’re like ridiculously soft.”

Peter rumbles pleased as Stiles returns to scent marking, the human may not even know what he’s doing right now. But it’s fine, Stiles has plenty of time to learn everything he can about pack and what it’s like to be in one.

His thoughts are turned to his _other_ Beta, or Scott as Stiles has told him his name is.

The older wolf no longer wants anything to do with the Beta he made in desperate attempt at pack, if Scott wasn’t so stubborn and had joined him things would have been fine. But now, after hearing news that Scott is _sleeping_ with the enemies daughter, it has his mouth pulling back in a snarl.

He’ll have to figure out what to do with the Beta, but for now he needs to comfort his pups.

"Can you shift like this?" Stiles asks Derek as he strokes Peter's head, amusing himself with playing with Peter's wolfy ears.

"No," Derek shakes his head as he presses his brow against Stiles' shoulder, taking in the utter lack of fear in Stiles' scent and heartbeat with something close to wonder. "It's an Alpha form, only Alpha's can shift into it."

"So, an Alpha may have been responsible for the Hollywood's idea of werewolves," Stiles muses as Peter flicks his ear out of Stiles' grasp. "So, is silver a real thing or is it because of, well, the Argent's?"

"The Argent's," Peter rumbles out, his voice somewhat distorted voice, and Stiles stares down at Peter wide-eye for a moment.

"Oh shit, you can talk in this form? That's _awesome_!" Stiles cups Peter's face and looks very eager. "Does that mean your vocal-cords are still human? Or is it some form of magic? Like your mind thinks you should still be able to talk and you just do? Because like, I heard you shift with all the bones breaking and urgh, kinda yuck to be honest, so I _know_ your bones have shifted and changed, and probably your muscles too," Stiles' hands move over Peter's impressively broad shoulders. "Like you need muscles in a different place for you to be able to move in this form on four-legs and two, but does that mean your organs and shit change too? Does that mean you can't eat chocolate in this form?"

Suddenly his enthusiasm dims and he snaps his jaw with an almost audible snap as his scent sours with embarrassment, and Stiles coughs as he releases Peter's shoulders.

"Sorry," Stiles says awkwardly, cursing himself for forgetting himself and being too much—like normal.

Derek shifts to look at Stiles with a frown of confusion at why he stopped, and Peter rumbles as he shifts slightly to stare up at Stiles.

"It's magic," Peter explains, but Stiles notices his mouth doesn't move which makes Stiles' jaw drop again. "The Pack bond is letting me talk to you."

"So, your vocal-cords _do_ change!"

Peter chuckles at the teenagers enthusiasm, “In a way they do and do not, I’m half a man and half a wolf in this form. I can speak but long sentences are hard which is why I use the pack bond.”

“Wait, like _telepathy_? Oh my god, you’re like Charles Xavier. Except, a little more Eric than Charles,” Stiles snorts at the reference, “But um...yeah, that’s really cool.”

He tries to keep the excitement inside of him down, not wanting to annoy either of the Hale’s with his excitable chatter or annoying questions. He already annoyed the fuck out of Scott, he doesn’t need to do the same to these two and kill any respect that they might have for him.

“I can smell your need to ask more questions, Stiles,” Peter tells him, his eyes cracking open so he can stare down at the human with his glowing red eyes. “You can keep asking, pup, I don’t mind the questions.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Stiles fidgets with the sleeves of his shirt, “I don’t want to annoy you.”

“You’re not annoying, Stiles,” Derek tells him, nudging against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Well, I mean—it’s just—Scott usually gets annoyed when I talk too much. And mostly, everyone else also gets annoyed.”

"We're not Scott or anyone else," Peter reassures the boy, his opinion of the _other_ Beta lowering further.

"I'll tell you to shut up if I think you're annoying," Derek tells him, and Stiles hesitates for a moment before beginning more slowly as if waiting for them to change their minds or for Derek to tell him to shut up.

"Werewolves have heightened senses, right? Which probably means you pick up chemosignals that we give off without realising it, which means you can pick up how we're feeling. I was wondering if you're human mind associates certain emotions with normal smells. Because that's kind of cool to think about, and then it makes me think what if how you smell one emotion is different to how another werewolf would smell that emotion due to upbringing or stuff," Stiles begins, biting his lip as he kind of forgets what he wanted to ask, and just rambles. "Like, I suppose the smell of sprouts would invoke disgust in me, so if I could scent chemosignals would I smell sprouts when someone is disgusted because of that association? And would another wolf, who grew up and liked sprouts, smell something different?"

Derek snorts slightly, "I wouldn't say disgust smells like sprouts."

"What? Then what does it smell like then?" Stiles demands, and Derek props himself up with a hand as he lies on his side and shrugs one shoulder.

"Like disgust," Derek says, and Stiles gapes at him.

"That is _so_ unhelpful for the person with a human nose," Stiles informs him. "And what if it really does smell like sprouts? But you don't make the connection because of something else."

"Why would it smell like sprouts?" Derek asks as his lips twitch as he watches Stiles gesture as he speaks.

"Well, do you like sprouts?" Stiles demands, and Derek makes a face.

"No, they're sprouts," Derek says in disgust, and Stiles gestures at Derek in triumph.

"See?! They have to be disgust!" Stiles almost crows as Peter snorts and closes his eyes as he listens to his pups.

The conversation carries on for a while longer until Stiles’ brain decides to shut down and he falls asleep with his hands fisted into Derek’s hair, and his face against Derek’s chest.

Derek blinks a few times, trying not to let himself fall asleep but then he feels Peter’s nose nudging him and the werewolf is curling around Stiles’ smaller body, nosing at the back of Stiles’ neck before falling asleep as well.

Peter feels something snap in place inside of him, right where the pack bond would be at and he wants nothing more than to howl with joy as he feels the bond between his pups strength. But he stays silent and curls closer around his two pups.

He has his son back, he has his precious puppy that he’s missed so much.

And he has Stiles, the little spit fire that he knows he’s going to enjoy having in his pack.

The way Stiles had zeroed in on the books and read them like they were the holy grail, Peter knew a book lover when he saw it, and he could tell Stiles had walked into the world of the supernatural with open arms and a hungry mind for knowledge.

He settled there, and let himself rest for a moment, knowing they’ll have to deal with the Argents next and the reawakening of Derek’s trauma as _she_ comes back.

A part of him hopes for everyone’s safety that Kate gets sent to jail. But the other part of him, the one that emerged when Talia took away **his pup** and then locked him in a psych ward for a year as she fed Derek with her lies and half love.

 _That_ part wants blood, that part wants to strangle Kate and yet thank her for killing the people who hurt him the most and took away the only good thing in his life, and then after that he wants to bite her, wants to tear her open slowly and rip her to shreds that not even her dental records could identify her body.

He knows if he does that, that Noah won't blame him, he'll just write it down to a missing person who had the bad luck to run into the rogue mountain lion.

He knew that the moment Noah's gaze moved from Derek and to Stiles, knew the moment Noah thought about what _she_ had done to Derek and put Stiles in Derek's place, and knew Noah would look the other way on _her_ disappearance and death.

Though the real problem, Peter knows, would be the Argent's already in town.

Peter curls tighter around his two pups as he thinks about them.

Victoria, the cold-hearted and cruel bitch, wouldn't give up until she saw all his Pack in ground and wouldn't blink an eye at Kate's crimes nor would she accept the fact that Kate brought it upon herself.

No, she'd look at Peter and sneer as she said he and his deserved it.

But Chris...

_He remembers warm blue-eyes, rough hands smoothing down his back, kisses pressed over his face, words of love said against his skin._

_He remembers choking back bile as he hugs that warm body, feeling strong arms wrap around him securely, remembers tears being kissed away as Peter tries desperately to force the words out, remembers the teasing remark that Peter must have gained weight as thumbs stroke over his soft stomach._

_He remembers desperately holding tightly to those broad-shoulder, pressing frantic kisses to the bite he placed over Chris' heart, clinging to his scent when Chris had to leave._

Chris may listen to Peter if only because of their history, or he may turn away because of that very history. It was hard to tell, it had been so long since Peter had seen him, and the years have no doubt changed them both.

He wonders with a hint of bitterness and envy what his daughter, Allison, looks like.

Did she have the same cold and cruel eyes as her mother? Or did she have Chris' warmer and sometimes even gentle heart? Or did she follow her aunt's footsteps and beds werewolves before destroying their whole world?

* * *

Stiles grumbles awake when his phone goes off, patting at his pockets until he pulls his phone out of his pocket and puts it up to his ear.

“Dad, I already told you I was fine. Can I go back to sleep?” Stiles mumbles half awake.

“Stiles! Where are you! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Scott screams into the phone, causing Stiles to flinch away and Peter and Derek to stir.

Getting out from under the great weight of two werewolves on top of him, Stiles moves to the living room, so he doesn’t disturb the wolves any further.

“Dude, lower your voice there’s no need to scream my ears out,” Stiles huffs at his best friend.

“ _No reason_!? Stiles, where are you? Your dad has been looking all over for you and there was word out that you were kidnapped! By _Peter Hale_!” Scott keeps yelling.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “I’m _fine_ , and I wasn’t kidnapped. I may have had a damsel in distress moment to which Peter helped me not break my head open on the ground. Anyways, it’s all good, I was just in the middle of pack cuddles.”

“ _WHAT!?”_

Stiles flinches at the volume, “Dude, can you chill? You’re gonna wake up Peter and Derek.”

" _What?!_ Peter _and_ Derek?! What the fuck Stiles?! Why are you with _them_?! What's going on!! Does your dad know?! You need to get out of there!" Scott continues, barely taking any notice to Stiles request for him to stop _fucking_ screaming.

"Scott, please, I just woke up and you're giving me a headache," Stiles rubs at his temple, and he can almost feel the disbelief Scott's radiating at him through the phone—he has a gift for that.

"Stiles!" Scott snaps, annoyance and disbelief dripping from his tone in a way that makes Stiles teeth grit and his shoulders hunch. "Why are you with Peter and Derek? Do I need to get Mr Argent?"

"Tell me you did not just seriously suggest going to a Hunter," Stiles interrupts firmly, his voice in a low hiss of displeasure.

"Peter Hale _kidnapped_ you! You obviously need help," Scott hisses back, a hint of petulant in his tone, and Stiles grits his teeth.

"He didn't kidnap me, there was no kidnapping involved," Stiles tells him firmly, hoping this time it would actually get through to his friend. "Dad's already been here, he knows it's a big misunderstanding and has probably already sorted it out."

"And he _left_ you? With _them_?" there's something appalled in Scott's tone, something disgusted, and it makes Stiles angry, makes him want to snap and rage at his best friend, but Scott doesn't respond well with anger, just makes him more convinced he's right and all the more stubborn about it.

Stiles takes a deep breath, counting back from ten before he replies, "Yes, my Dad came, he met Peter and spoke to him, a _reasonable_ and _adult_ conversation, and he felt it was safe enough to leave me with both Peter and Derek."

"But _why_?" Scott demands, a complete lack of understanding in his tone.

"Because I'm Pack," Stiles informs him, almost snappish, and he winces as he breaches himself.

" _What_?!" Scott doesn't disappoint as he roars down the phone with a hint of werewolf growl. "You were _bitten_?"

“Eh, sort of? Like, I got the bite, but I didn’t turn into a werewolf—actually I’m not really sure what I am,” Stiles shrugs it off, wandering over to the kitchen to see if Peter has anything good hidden in there.

He grins wickedly when he finds a plastic container of cookies and pulls it open so he could munch on one.

“What! Okay, I think I need to call in Mr. Argent, you’ve obviously been brainwashed by the Alpha!” Scott yells through the phone.

Before Stiles can respond, the phone is snatched out of his hand and Peter is standing in the kitchen bare naked and looking like he’s ready to murder someone and eat them. Like Hannibal Lecter, Stiles’ mind tells him.

“Scott McCall, right? You know, it took me a while to remember the last name McCall, and then I remembered your mother use to be one of my nurses. Sweet woman, really, and she was also one of the nicer ones,” Peter says with a false sweetness to his voice.

“You stay _away_ from my mom,” Scott snarls, “What have you done with Stiles!”

“Nothing he didn’t ask for,” Peter smirks at the growl on the other side of the phone. “Now that I have your attention, I want you to listen good, and listen well, _Scott_. I may have given you the bite, which I do apologize for, if I were in my right mind I simply would have ignored you since you obviously aren’t cut out for being a werewolf. But listen here, if you ever threaten to send the Argents after us I will take you mother and I will force you to watch as I do _unspeakable_ things to her.”

“What are you going to do?” Scott says with terror in his voice.

“I can’t say, it’s unspeakable,” Peter turns to hang up the phone, but then pauses, “And if you do see Mr. Argent, tell him...tell him I said the pumpkins are nice this year around.”

“What does that—“

Peter hangs up and hands Stiles back his phone, snatching up a chocolate chip cookie and chewing on it.

“Are these homemade?”

“Yes,” Peter tears into a second one.

“They’re really good,” Stiles says, not bothering to ask what that last part was about.

"Thank you," Peter says as he hands Stiles another cookie and begins his third one.

"So," Stiles nibbles on his cookie. "What would you have done to Mrs McCall?"

"Treated her to an under seasoned meal with truly god awful music," Peter informs him with a little shudder. "Truly unspeakable."

Stiles snorts as he eats the rest of his cookie, "The work of a mad man."

Peter hums in agreement with a smirk, his eyes dancing with amusement, "I did say I liked her."

Stiles looks at his phone and stuffs it in his pocket, "He's going to be a problem, isn't he?"

Peter pauses as looks at Stiles, "You don't seem surprised by that."

Stiles shrugs as he toys with a crumble, "Scott...Scott hasn't really been acting himself," Stiles frowns slightly before correcting himself, "well, he's acting more assholery than usual, so yeah."

"The Bite can sometimes bring out people's worst traits," Peter tells him, trying to be delicate. "To go from a normal human to a something with so much power? It can be overwhelming, and not something I would have given someone without consent or them truly understanding what they were getting into in my right mind. But it was my first full moon as an Alpha, I _needed_ a Pack, I suppose it was a good thing I still went to the Preserve."

Stiles nods before pausing and frowning at Peter, "What do you mean? Still went into the Preserve? Weren't you already there?"

Peter looks at him puzzled, "Why would I be already there? I was in my room until moonrise."

"But Laura..." Stiles trails off as his mind whirls. "You...you didn't rip her in half."

Peter rears back in surprise and disgust, "What? No! She was _my_ niece! I may have killed her, but I made sure she was buried."

"What?" Derek asks in disbelief from the kitchen archway, looking confused. "But.."

"Someone else found her," Stiles realises with a sick lurch that says the cookies may have not be the best idea. "Someone found her and cut her in half, leaving her to be found that way."

Peter’s eyes begin to burn red, “ _Argent’s_. That can only be their doing, it’s like a declaration of war to them to cut wolves in half.”

“That’s disgusting. She was already dead!”

Peter’s head tilts to the side, “They’re hunters, what else could you expect from them. _Kindness_?

There is nothing kind about what they do; murder, rape, arson, and butchering is wolves like it’s a game.

They treat us like a fun little witch hunt that you get the entire neighbourhood to join in on, as you chase after teenage werewolves and then drag them out of their homes so you can beat them to death and then string them up,” Peter snarls. “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them all.”

“Okay, okay, let’s just calm down. Take a few deep breaths. Does someone need to cuddles again?” Stiles opens his arms for his Alpha, flinching when Peter growls under his breath.

“No, I don’t need cuddles, Stiles,” the older man huffs, Derek raises an eyebrow at him in silence and Peter growls again. “Fine. Maybe _I do_ need cuddles.”

He pulls the boy into his arms and lifts Stiles up like one does when they’re carrying around their house cat. The wolf huffs and growls, nosing all over Stiles’ body until he’s satisfied and has calmed down.

"I now understand what a cat or a small dog feels like when they are picked up by their owner," Stiles informs Peter with a thoughtful frown. "I'm not sure I am happy about that or not."

Derek snorts, he doubts he'll ever understand how Stiles' mind works.

There's a knock on the door and Stiles' eyes widen as he realises it could be his dad as he looks at Derek, very _naked_ Derek.

"Bedroom! Bedroom! He can't see you naked! He'll definitely think sex cult then!" Stiles shoos at Derek from his place in Peter's arms, and Derek snorts as he heads back to Peter's bedroom while Peter heads to the door with Stiles in his arms.

Peter shifts Stiles almost absently until the teenager's perched on his hip much like a small child, and Stiles blushes as he covers his face as Peter opens the door one-handed.

"I'm not even going to ask," Noah decides as he takes in his son being carted around like a small child by Peter despite the fact Stiles is probably nearing Peter's height, and just holds out a blue duffle-bag to Peter. "His things, I can see you have him well in hand."

Noah's mouth twitches as Stiles gives a pathetic whine as he drops his head on Peter's bare shoulder.

"Don't worry, Noah," Peter smirks as he plays along with the joke. "I know how to deal with kids his age."

"I'm seventeen! Not seven!" Stiles complains as he glares at the chuckling men. "Go! Now! I need no more witnesses to this!"

"Have fun with him," Noah tells Peter, acting like Stiles isn't there. "He can be a handful when he's grumpy."

"Oh my god," Stiles bangs his head against Peter's shoulder.

"I'm well used to dealing with grumpy children," Peter smirks and Noah chuckles. "See you tomorrow, Sheriff."

"Peter," Noah nods before turning to Stiles. "Be good."

"Still seventeen," Stiles pouts at his father.

"And more prone to trouble," Noah replies before turning to leave as Peter steps back into his apartment, and shuts and locks the door—can't be too careful with Argent's about.

“Shall I get you your juice box now?” Peter teases, smirking as he hears Derek loosing himself with laughter in the bedroom.

Stiles crosses his arms and huffs, “You know what, I don’t like you anymore. Put me down, I’m leaving.”

“No,” Peter growls, pressing Stiles against his body as he rubs his cheek against the top of Stiles’ head. “You’re mine now.”

“Ugh, you send like a possessive ex. Ew,” Stiles pushes, squawking when Peter sets him on the couch and drops his duffle bag on top of him. “Meanie!”

“I thought you said you weren’t seven. Now, come on it’s time for big boys to take their showers,” Peter grins as Stiles throws his shoe at him, he would have hit Peter in the chest if it weren’t for his superhuman reflexes that caught the shoe.

“The worst! And I’m seventeen!” Stiles yells, snatching up his duffle bag and going to the bathroom.

“What kind of seventeen-year-old wears Superman boxers?”

“I do, jackass,” Stiles calls back, before closing the bathroom door, huffing only there for a few minutes before starting up the shower.

Peter snickers to himself before turning to watch Derek enter the room, dressed in sweats again.

“Stop messing with him. You know he’s just going to get even more frustrated,” Derek grins, but also means his words because he doesn’t want Peter making fun of Stiles when Scott is already a horrible person.

“Only a little bit of teasing, but I will be getting him some new clothes. He looks like a toothpick trying to play dress up in those things.” Peter answers.

The bathroom door pops open and Stiles sticks his head out with a glare.

"I heard that!" Stiles informs him. "And I like my clothes."

"The clothes that make you look like you're in middle-school and trying on your older brother's clothes for fun?" Peter asks in disbelief, and Stiles squawks in offense.

"Shame on you!" Stiles points at Peter, his arm bare showing he had been stripping when he caught Peter's comment, and Peter takes in the muscle on it that had been completely hidden by his clothes.

"You mean shame on your wardrobe," Peter quips, and Stiles makes a face at him before pulling back into the bathroom and shutting the door. "We're going shopping before the weekend ends! You will be going to school as a brand new person."

"Shopping is terrible!" Stiles calls over the shower.

"You either come with me or I will sneak into your house in the middle of the night and switch all your clothes anyway," Peter calls back as Derek shakes his head.

"And I wondered why the Sheriff automatically thought of a sex cult when he saw you," Derek says dryly as he drops down on the couch and looks around the apartment and the white sheets they still had to remove from the furniture.

"I have no idea what you mean," Peter informs him almost primly as he goes to get the cookies from the kitchen and handing the container over to Derek, and begins to properly get his apartment in order.

Derek snorts as he bites into his first cookie, his eyes fluttering shut as they taste just like they used too.

Peter always saved extra cookies for Derek, not even Cora got as many extra as Derek got and she had been Peter's favourite niece.

Peter would always slide them over with a secretive smirk and go, _"Just our secret, okay Pup?"_ and Derek always eagerly grinned back and took them.

Mom put a stop to it at the house when Laura told on them, Mom said Peter had been spoiling him and he had been greedy keeping all the cookies to himself.

But his mom wasn’t here anymore to take that away from him, so Derek let himself veg on the cookies, enjoying the homemade cookies that he hasn’t had since he was little.

Peter preens when he catches Derek eating the cookies he gave him. He wants to go over there, purring and smother his son with his scent, wants to give Derek the love his son deserves but never got because of Talia.

But he’s not sure if Derek is ready to hear the truth about his parents, he already lost Laura, he might not be ready to lose more.

When he sees Derek frown at the empty container, something pushes Peter to walk into the kitchen and grab the second container and then hand it over to Derek.

“Don’t you want to save some for Stiles?” Derek asks, looking at the container in his hands.

Peter remembers Derek asking him that same question when he was younger, Peter had made _his son_ Christmas cookies. And Laura of course thought she should get some too, which had Peter snapping at the teenager.

Those were for his pup, not her—he loved Laura very dearly. More than he loved his sister, but sometimes she looked too much like her, talked too much like her, and Peter hated her.

Talia would never treat Derek the same way she treated the girls, Derek would always be the bastard child who sat at the end of the table away from everyone else like they were afraid of catching a disease from him. No one spoke to him or paid him attention.

Peter did, only when he was allowed to and could sneak out of his hiding place, and his puppy always soaked up the attention, until Derek got older and started to hate Peter for something that wasn’t in his control.

“He can have some later, but for now they’re all yours, pup,” Peter smiled, wanting to lean down and press a kiss to Derek’s forehead in an almost motherly way.

But the last time he tried to do that, Derek had snapped at him and Talia had thrown him down the stairs.

Derek had only been twelve and it was just after Paige’s death.

Peter hadn't liked the girl, had _loathed_ her in fact, thought it wasn't right for Derek to be in relationship so young.

It was bad enough that Derek had been twelve and in High school, but actually dating one of his classmates who was the right age? No, it wasn't right.

Chris had been four years older than Peter when they were together, but Peter had still be sixteen, had those years and the maturity—questionable though it was—to handle a more adult and sexual relationship.

Truthfully, it was only that she hadn't pressured Derek for sex that stopped him from snapping her neck.

Peter had wanted to put a stop to it the moment Derek told him, had been ready to go to Paige and remind her that Derek was only _twelve_ , but Talia had stepped in, told him that it was fine, that it's normal for High schoolers to have relationships.

_"Most high schoolers aren't twelve-years-old, Talia!" Peter had snapped, snarling at her and her totally unconcerned face._

_"He's a big boy now, Peter," Talia told him firmly. "He can handle himself against some human girl."_

Peter had tried to get Derek to remind her, tried to get him to think how she'd feel if she found out the truth, but his pup took it the wrong way, thought it was about him being a werewolf—which _yes_ was a concern, but not his main concern at the time.

Then Ennis came to town, mourning the loss of his Beta and hungry for revenge, and somehow the girl caught his attention—he isn't sure if Derek did ask him to bite her, or Ennis had overheard Peter's dislike about her, or if he had just smelled Derek on the girl—but it didn't matter, she had been bitten, she had been dying, and Derek had to give her mercy.

His little pup, twelve-years-old and blue-eyed because of some stupid little girl who had no business involving herself with a twelve-year-old in that manner, and Derek blamed _him_ , and Talia loved every moment of it, loved seeing Derek turn away from Peter and break his heart.

She could never stop punishing Peter for what Robert had _done_ to him, never could stop seeing Peter as the person responsible for what happened instead of—and he loathes to think it—the _victim_ in it.

“Peter?”

* * *

He’s shaken out of his memory from Stiles’ voice as the human comes up behind him, Stiles’ eyes immediately drawn to the plastic container that had been destroyed in the Alpha’s hands.

“Peter what’s wrong?” Stiles sets a hand on the older man’s shoulder, freezing a little when he sees a few tears slipping down Peter’s cheek.

The man shakes his head and turns to look at Stiles, “Don’t worry about it, pup, it’s just me getting a little emotional.”

Peter looks at the shirt Stiles is wearing, his eyes flashing red when all he smells is the _other_ Beta on his Stiles.

“I don’t like that shirt, take it off,” he demands.

“Is this another pack thing?” Stiles ask, raising an eyebrow as he takes off his shirt.

“Yes,” Peter leaves and then comes back with Derek’s shirt he was wearing earlier, “Here, put this on.”

“You’re so weird,” Stiles comments, and it just makes Peter smile when he hears the skip in Stiles’ heart.

“Derek has some cookies if you want a bite of them, other than that we’re going back to bed,” Peter tells him.

“Derek, you better have not eaten all the cookies!” The teenager yells as he runs into the living room to try and grab some of the few cookies remaining.

The werewolf smirks and turns to make a comment, but when he sees the shirt Stiles is wearing his eyes flash blue, and Derek turns to give his uncle a murderous glare.

Stiles takes advantage this moment of inattention, and tackles Derek with a war-cry, hand snapping out and snatching the cookies as he sits smugly on top of Derek.

"I win!" Stiles grins down at Derek in victory as Derek stares mutely up at him and tries not to breath in the scent of _him_ and _Stiles_. "Hey, did I break you?"

"I'm fine," Derek says gruffly as he pushes Stiles' off of him, and steadying the container so cookies don't go everywhere.

"You were doing that mute frowny thing," Stiles frowns up at him, unbothered of being pushed over and just laying kind of sprawled next to Derek on the ridiculously soft and large couch that probably cost more than his laptop.

"Mute frowny thing?" Derek repeats almost blankly as he stares down at Stiles and takes the container from Stiles' lax hand.

"Yeah, like this," Stiles tries to mimic Derek's face, but it only makes Derek snort and shove a cookie into his face. "Ah! Attack cookie!"

Derek snorts out a laugh, and Stiles grins up at him, pleased at making him laugh before taking a bite out his cookie.

"Seriously, what's wrong?" Stiles chews on his cookie before pointing at Derek with it. "Is it because I'm wearing your shirt? Because I can totally take off if you don't like me wearing it."

"No," Derek looks away as he eats a cookie, willing himself not to blush noticeably. "Wear it, I don't mind."

"Cool because it's really kind of comfy even though I think it must be like two sizes too small for you," Stiles takes another bite of his cookie, and Derek side-eyes him.

"Why do you think that?" Derek asks as he silently hands Stiles another before taking one for himself.

"Because it almost fits me," Stiles snorts, a silent "duh" clear in his voice, and Peter frowns thoughtfully as he looks at Stiles as realises the teenager is right. "And you are like, what? Two hundred pounds of pure muscle? It should dwarf me, but it doesn't which says you've been buying things too small for you."

Peter gives Derek a look, which has the younger werewolf glancing away from him and shrugging.

“It’s just a shirt. Besides, you wear ones two sizes too big,” Derek jabs back, hunching in on himself a little bit.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Well, I’m a skinny guy and people happen to like that kind of thing.”

“I doubt people enjoy the sight of a starved looking twink.”

“I am not starving,” Stiles grumbles to himself and shoved another cookie into his mouth.

“You’re both very handsome men, but yes Stiles, I have to agree with Derek. You look starved,” Peter says, coming behind the couch to wrap his arms around Stiles and hug his Beta, “It’s okay, we’ll feed you though.”

“Human meat?”

“Why of course! Only the blood of your enemies will put some meat on those bones finally,” Peter teases.

“Great, because I’ve had enough of Harris harassing me and bullying me for having ADHD,” Stiles says a little jokingly.

Those were the wrongs words to say however, because next thing he knows Peter is shifting and his eyes are glowing red as he bares his fangs.

“I’m going to _tear him_ _apart with my teeth_ ,” Peter snarls.

"No, Peter!" Stiles sits up. "We don't kill asshole teachers! Otherwise we'll have a very serious lack of them! And we have enough problems getting teachers as it is!"

Derek gives Stiles a look, " _That's_ your argument?"

Stiles gives Derek a look before something seems to occur to him and he coughs, "I mean, he's not worth it?"

Derek gives him a disappointed look for even trying, and Stiles shrugs, "What? I can't help but sometimes thing it would serve him right to die. It's a bad thought, I know, but shit, he's an asshole even worse than Jackson, _Jackson_ Derek. If you knew him, you'd know that's a very serious statement."

"I thought we were trying to stop Peter from killing people," Derek points out dryly, and Stiles gives a sheepish look.

"Oops?" Stiles offers, and Derek rolls his eyes while trying to not let his mouth twitch. "Hey, it was meant to be a joke!"

"Yes, a joke about someone is harassing you and bullying you to your new Alpha running on protective instincts," Derek says in that dry tone of his that Stiles feels ashamed to once thought was bland or something like that.

Peter can't help, but calm as he watches his pups together as they bicker.

"Okay, when you put it like that, it sounds like a really stupid joke," Stiles pouts at the look Derek throws him before the werewolf takes a bite out of a cookie. "Stop looking at me like that! I can't stand how judgey your eyebrows are!"

Those eyebrows become even more judgemental, and Stiles feels so sassed by them.

"Forget murder-brows, you have sassy-brows," Stiles informs Derek, and he almost chokes on his cookie.

"Murder-brows?" Derek demands after he swallows his cookie with difficulty.

"They are seriously like serial-killer brows, dude," Stiles says as he gestures to Derek's eyebrows, and Peter snorts as he's never seen Derek look so confused and offended in his life. "But they are really sassy-brows which relieves me, because I thought they were plotting my murder."

"You thought my _eyebrows_ were plotting your murder?" Derek questions in disbelief, and Stiles makes a face.

"When you say it that way, it sounds stupid," Stiles argues. "I thought they were telling me that _you_ were plotting my murder."

"You thought I wanted to kill you?" Derek almost looks stricken, and Stiles shrugs as he scratches his neck awkwardly.

"Well," Stiles drags out the word, "you did look a bit murdery towards the Stiles in the police car."

"You just got me arrested!" Derek protests before giving Stiles a look. "Did you just refer to yourself as 'the Stiles?'"

"What?" Stiles makes a face and makes a dismissive noise, "No, of course not, why would I do such a thing?" the eyebrows judge him and Stiles slumps. "Yes, yes, I did, and I am _so_ sorry."

“Are you apologizing for getting me arrested or for speaking in third person?” Derek crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at Stiles with a look that has Stiles curling in on himself a bit.

“Definitely both. Look, I now we’ve already said and done shit to each other that is pretty bad. But can we start over? We’re Pack and Pack shouldn’t fight one another, and I really am sorry for getting you arrested for murder.”

The older man sits there in silence for a while, letting the silence and anxiety chew at Stiles the same way it did when he was sitting in the holding cell of the police station. A part of him wants to say no, a small part of him wants to demand Peter take Stiles out of the Pack because this life is dangerous.

But mostly because he’s afraid what Stiles is going to think of him when _she_ comes back and ruins him all over again.

He doesn’t want Stiles to see that small broken and desperate teenager he was years ago, jumping at the chance just to have someone hold and love him.

And now when he remembers those times, remembers the sickly sweet words Kate would whisper. The way she would _laugh_ at him when he did something _amusing_ to her.

It makes something twist and turn crooked inside of him, it makes Derek want to get in the Camaro and drive until he hits something. Derek doesn’t deserve this.

He doesn’t.

The only thing he deserves is to suffer again and again, because it’s his fault.

And if he apologizes, if he lets Stiles in the teenager is going to see every bent and twisted side of Derek. Stiles is going to laugh, he’s going to call him an idiot for believing her words, going to shake with laughter as he reminds Derek how _stupid_ he was for falling in love with a hunter.

He doesn’t want to destroy Stiles, his wolf wants to hold him until Stiles doesn’t have the clinging smell of sadness and loneliness on him anymore.

But he’s terrified if he touches the boy he’ll go up in flames or one day Derek will wake up with Stiles’ blood on his hands.

He shouldn’t. _He shouldn’t_.

“Okay, we can start again. But never refer to yourself in third person again.”

Stiles grins at him, happy and bright and so _goddamn_ innocent that it hurts Derek, and holds up a hand in sloppily scout sign.

"I promise I will never refer to myself in third person again," Stiles says almost solemnly despite his grin. "Scout's honour."

" _You_ were a scout?" Derek snorts and gives Stiles a look.

"Hey! I was one of the best!" Stiles pouts as he protests. "Coach Finstock was my scout leader, he thought I was crazy but a good scout."

"Bobby _Finstock_ was your scout leader?" Peter asks in disbelief as he takes his leather chair. "Well, _that_ explains so much."

Stiles pouts at his Alpha as Derek gives a laugh.

"You should see my knot tying! I was the best at that," Stiles brags making Derek choke as Peter gives a leer.

"I'm sure it'll be very _helpful_ in the future," Peter says suggestively, and snorts at the look of mild horror that crosses Stiles' face.

"Oh my god," Stiles flops back down beside Derek with a groan. "I _did not_ think that through."

"I think _that_ was obvious," Derek snorts, hesitating before running a hand over Stiles' buzzcut.

"I'm going to embarrass myself so much," Stiles groans into the couch, trying not to push back against the comforting touch of Derek's hand on his head.

"You don't have to feel embarrassed," Peter reassures Stiles. "We're Pack, you have nothing to be ashamed of with us."

Stiles turns his head to peek up at Derek in silent question, and Derek nods in agreement making Stiles grin slightly.

"Thanks," Stiles turns over, slightly mourning Derek's hand pulling away from his head, and asks hopefully, "Is there still cookies left?"

Derek sighs as he grabs two and hands one over to Stiles, finding it not as hard to share with Stiles as it had been sometimes to share with Laura growing up.

It had been easier with Cora, she would share _everything_ with Derek without complaining or trying to horde the bigger share.

“You’re a menace,” Derek tells the teenager, who only looks up and flashes a smile at him before turning back to the books on the table.

Peter tsks and closes the book before Stiles can fully invest himself into what he’s reading, ignoring the sound of protest Stiles makes when he does so.

“It’s almost ten at night, Stiles. We still have to go shopping for new clothes tomorrow,” Peter says, “Now, finish your cookie and it’s off to bed with the both of you.”

Derek looked up at that, looking like an angry child being told to go to time out from their parent.

“Why do I have to go to bed? I’m an adult,” Derek huffs, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest.

“Because I said so, and you look like you haven’t a good night’s sleep since you started holding up in the burnt out Hale house,” Peter tells him plainly, “Both of you need some sleep, and if I have to force you to do so I will.”

“Man, you’re kind of scary when you act like a parent,” Stiles says, wiping his hands on his sleep pants before getting up to go to bed, only to pause when he remembers something, “Um, is there anything Pack related we need to do before sleeping?”

“Yes, we must all go out into the woods and hunt down three deer before commencing an orgy under the full moon,” Peter says with a blank face.

“What!” Stiles’ whole face goes red.

“Kidding,” Peter cackles.

“Oh my god! You actually had me! Asshole!” Stiles hits Peter’s chest, and then pulls his hand back because _ouch_.

"What is your chest made out of?" Stiles asks as he holds his hand. "Stone?"

"It's called muscle," Peter informs him with a smirk. "You may have heard about it."

"Ha," Stiles says dryly turning to head to the bedroom before looking back with a slight frown. "Does this mean we're sleeping together?"

"Yes," Peter says with some delight as Derek freezes from his turn towards his old bedroom. "Pack bonding, puppy-piles help strengthen the bonds."

"Huh," Stiles nods thoughtfully and in some understanding before turning to Derek. "Hope you don't mind me using your chest as a pillow again, it's surprisingly comfy despite being pure muscle."

"It's fine," Derek says gruffly, turning his face away in attempt to hide his blush, but the tips of his ears give him away like always, Peter notes.

"Cool," Stiles nods before getting a wicked grin on his face. "Last one there is a sourwolf!"

"Wha?" Derek snaps his head to Stiles, but the younger teenager had already began running to the bedroom with a cackle. "That's cheating!"

* * *

Derek races after Stiles and the younger man squeals when Derek picks him up easily and throws him over his shoulder before dumping him on the bed.

Stiles lands, laughing, as he looks up at Derek, and Derek can't stop the slight grin twist his lips as he's overwhelmed with the scent of happiness and the sound of Stiles' free laughter.

Stiles tugs Derek down, and the older man lands over him with an 'oof', caging Stiles in with his body, and Stiles' laughter drains away slowly as he stares up at Derek with wide eyes.

He needs to move, Derek knows, he needs to move _now_ as Stiles' eyes drop to his lips and his tongue comes out to wet his own, and Derek's head moves almost without his permission as he sways closer to Stiles.

Derek's eyes flutter as he inhales, the happiness becomes heady with the beginning of arousal, and Derek sways almost drunkenly closer to Stiles as the younger teen tilts his face up, his lips shiny and begging to be kissed.

“Already getting comfortable, I see.”

Derek pulls back at his uncle’s words, rolling off of Stiles’ smaller frame so he can settle at his side.

Stiles has the smallest bite of disappointment in his scent which throws Derek off, but neither of them say anything as Peter shifts into his Alpha form.

Stiles marvels at the gross transformation before him, muscles and bones snapping and shifting, fur growing and his shape changing. Peter huffs and shakes himself off before getting on the bed.

He snuffles and moves Stiles and Derek around on the bed until he’s satisfied and settles around them. Stiles snorts as Peter reminds him of a dog circling around on their bed until they flop down to sleep.

He turns to look at Derek who has his eyes closed but isn’t yet sleeping, “Can you turn into a wolf? Or is that another Twilight thing?”

“No. I don’t think so, my mom was never clear on how it worked,” Derek answered, his eyebrows scrunching when the air is filled with a sour note from Peter.

“Your mother wasn’t clear on a _lot_ of things,” he hears Peter growl.

“Peter?”

The older wolf turns his head away, “It’s nothing, pup. We’ll talk another time.”

Stiles looks back and forth at both of the Hale’s before giving up on figuring out what the Hale’s are saying in their telepathic eyebrow speech.

He turns over onto his side and presses his face against Derek’s chest, hoping the older man doesn’t throw him off for being too close or too cuddly. But Derek only moves his arm so he can wrap it around Stiles’ body and pull him close.

Stiles smiles slightly as he closes his eyes and throws an arm over Derek's middle and tangles his fingers in Peter's fur.

Derek rests his chin on Stiles' head and keeps his eyes closed, trying to resist the urge to tighten his grip on Stiles, to pull him closer and rub his scent all over the younger teen until he smells like _StilesandDerek_ , and instead leans back against Peter.

Peter noses gently at Derek's hair before dropping his head onto one of the pillows as he closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of Pack, of his pup and Betas, and gives a rumble of contentment as Stiles' breathing is the first to even and deepen in sleep, and Derek is quick to follow.

Peter dozes somewhat, keeping an ear out just in case the Argent's attempted to storm his apartment when his Pack has their defences down, but finally allows himself to drift properly into sleep when the clock strikes twelve.

* * *

“Peter, I seriously think we have enough clothes for me to last the rest of the year,” Stiles complains, following the older man into _another_ store.

Peter pauses and looks back at Stile,s who’s wearing a baggy pair of jeans that slip down his legs, because apparently teenagers this day and age have forgotten the existence of belts, and a graphic t-shirt that has some silly joke on it.

“We only have four shirts and two new jeans. I promise you it’s not enough,” Peter tells him, walking into the next store to see if he can find some button ups for Stiles.

Every man needs some nice button up shirts and long sleeves that don’t slip down their body.

He blatantly ignores the huff Stiles makes as he follows Peter with his arms crossed over his chest, wishing he had his flannel shirt to cover up his arms, but Peter had tried to throw it out when he caught sight of it.

Derek had been promoted to bag carrying lobby boy, not that the man seemed to care as he silently followed beside them, keeping in pace with Stiles until their shoulders brushed up against one another.

“I think it’s Derek’s turn to get new clothes,” Stiles tries for change the spotlight and gets a glare from the older man.

“I’m old enough to get my own clothes. I don’t need any help,” Derek grumbles, glancing down at a black short-sleeve that looks about Stiles’ size. He picks it up and hands it to the teenager, “Here try this on.”

Stiles wants to argue, he really does. But then Derek is raising an eyebrow at him and he’s weak when it comes to arguing with Derek’s superior eyebrows.

“Fine, but only because you’re not as demanding as Peter,” Stiles huffs and takes the item of clothing.

Derek sits on the couch that is settled by the fitting room area, Peter taking a seat next to him and glancing down at his phone as they both wait for Stiles to finish up.

"He is right in one regard," Peter says casually to Derek making the younger man glance at him. "You do need some new clothes, clothes that aren't too tight."

"My clothes are fine," Derek tells him, ignoring the look Peter shoots him. "They look good on me."

"While _that_ is a goal when it comes to clothes," Peter begins as he watches Derek's stiff frame. "The real goal is to find clothes that fit you, are comfortable and stylish while making you look and feel good."

"My clothes are _fine_ ," Derek repeats more gruffly, and Peter makes an unconvinced noise, and Derek looks ready to argue when Stiles leaves the fitting room and awkwardly pulling at the short-sleeves.

"Well?" Stiles asks as he holds his arms out. "How stupid do I look?"

"You look fine," Peter says as he stands and moves to circle Stiles, adjusting the shirt slightly. "It suits you, and everyone need a little black in their wardrobe."

"Really?" Stiles asks doubtfully as he turns to mirror at the end of the hall. "Doesn't it make me look washed out?"

Peter snorts as he fixes the collar and unbuttons the top button—honestly, was he attempting to strangle himself?

"You aren't _that_ pale, Stiles," Peter informs him as he steps back and nods, the jeans will need to go or at least paired with a proper belt. "It actually enhances the slight tan you have."

"Well, you know, lacrosse isn't just about me sucking and getting my ass kicked," Stiles says dryly as he turns back to the mirror. "I also get time to work on my tan."

"Short-sleeves suit you," Peter informs Stiles as he touches one of Stiles' arms. "It shows off the muscle you actually have."

"I thought I was a tooth-pick or looked half-starved," Stiles reminds him dryly, and Peter rolls his eyes and flicks his forehead. "Hey! Stop hurting the—"

Derek smirks as Stiles cuts himself off with a glance in his direction.

"And you do look like that when you wear things two sizes too big," Peter tells Stiles as Stiles rubs his forehead.

Stiles glances at Derek, “Your uncle is bullying me.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Derek turns his head the other way, smirking when Stiles squawks in indignation.

“Rude! You’re not invited to my next birthday,” Stiles says.

“Good, I don’t think I could handle being at a Star Wars themed birthday party,” Derek smirks when Stiles huffs.

“Actually, it was gonna be Batman themed.”

“Stiles?”

The three men whip their heads around to stare at Allison as she walks closer to them, her dimple smile almost blinding in the room.

“ _Hey_ , Allison,” Stiles scratches are the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like the air is being sucked out of the room as she comes over and hugs him. “What are you doing here?”

“Shopping with my dad, I needed to get some new clothes for the semester. And also Lydia keeps inviting me and Scott to parties,” she tilts her head to the side, “Were you not coming to the one tonight? I told Scott to invite you.”

"It must have slipped his mind," Stiles smiles awkwardly as he says the words in a falsely light tone. "You know Scott."

Not a single one of Scott's texts mentioned any party, Stiles knew it without having to look at them again. Yesterday had been the most texts he sent in a while, and Stiles knew he only texted because it was Peter _Hale_ had supposedly kidnapped him.

Allison frowns slightly before another blinding dimple smile curls her lips and reminds Stiles of why he thinks she could be a Disney Princess, "Well, then it's a good thing I ran into you and can invite you myself."

Stiles doesn't even have to look at his werewolves to know neither were happy about the idea of Stiles going to a party, especially not with after being invited by Allison _Argent_.

"I'd love to, but school's tomorrow and Dad wouldn't be impressed," Stiles shrugs his shoulders and gives her a conspiring look. "You know how Dads are like."

Allison rolls her eyes as she nods in agreement, "Dad wants me to text him every hour and to be back before ten."

"Which is very reasonable," Mr Argent says calmly as he strides up, his cool blue-eyes taking in Stiles briefly before flickering over and focusing on Peter. "It's dangerous after all, considering there's a dangerous animal about."

"Funny," Peter moves and presses a hand lightly to Stiles' back. "I heard the Sheriff's Department is sure they have things under control."

"Really?" Mr Argent arches one brow, his gaze more fixed on the unburned side of Peter's face. "Somehow I'm not sure about that."

"You should get your facts straight before sprouting old-dated information," Peter says lightly.

Allison gives Stiles a slightly embarrassed look and Stiles gives her a small smile in reply.

"So," Mr Argent's gaze moves to Stiles, the blue a shade lighter than Peter's and much colder than the warm eyes Peter always turns to him. "Who's this?"

"This is Stiles," Allison introduces with a smile. "My friend from school."

“A school friend, huh. And what are you doing with an ex-coma patient, _Stiles_?” Chris asks, his voice going steely tight.

Stiles knows this is a trap, the man is trying to pull something out him to see where Stiles lands on his list of enemies. So Stiles does the one thing he’s good at.

He talks.

Stiles starts with a shrug, “The Hale’s are actually kind of a family friend, my mom was close with Peter before I was born, and he used to come over to babysit me when it was date night. And after my mom died, it was really hard on me and Peter both because we loved her, Peter was there when my dad got too busy with work.

“You know how it is, your wife dies from an incurable disease. You’ve got a kid with a motormouth and ADHD, work full time as a deputy and you have an alcoholic problem. Peter was there to help around the house when he could but then...the fire happened.”

Stiles turns his head to glance at Peter’s face, the side that still is covered in scars from the fire, “It was really hard on me because Peter was the only other person who knew my mom like I did. And then he was gone, so I didn’t know what to do. I ended up reading to him while he was in the hospital until my dad came to pick me up, and when I heard he woke up you know, I just had to hang out with my favorite Hale.”

Allison nods her head, “I didn’t know about your mom.”

Stiles waves her off, even though there’s a twinge of pain in his chest, “It’s all in the past. Sometimes it still hurts to think about her or remember the time we had together, but she’s still there in our hearts.”

“Claudia was a very lovely woman, and a spitfire too.” Peter smiles, a real smile unlike the one he’d giving to the Argents earlier that was full of teeth.

There's a tightening to Mr Argent's face at almost completely truthful story while Allison looks sympathetic, touched by the story.

"You must have been so happy that he finally woke up," Allison says softly, kindly, and totally not what Stiles would expect from someone coming from the family she does.

"You have no idea," Stiles gives her a smile, _and not just for the reasons you'd guess_ , he adds mentally.

"And you just happen to also be spending time with a man you recently accused on murder," Mr Argent adds making Allison give him a look.

" _Dad_ ," Allison glances at Derek, mildly horrified by her dad's words and tone.

"A misunderstanding that he has thankfully forgiven me for," Stiles informs Mr Argent. "I just got so carried away, trying to help out my dad, you know? And I forgot it was a real case, with real people, and that a mistake could have ruined Derek's life. I'm very grateful that he decided to forgive me for my part in his false imprisonment, and I feel completely _awful_ now knowing it was his sister. I can't imagine how he must have felt when he found her like that."

Mr Argent doesn't even wince at the not very subtle hint to the state the Argent's must have left Laura in, but something in his gaze does flicker as he looks at Peter.

"I heard," Allison grimaces as she covers her mouth, eyes flicking sympathetically towards Derek, and she takes a step closer to him making Mr Argent tense and shift like he's about to pull her back. "I really hope they find the person responsible for what happened to your sister."

"Thank you," Derek says stiffly, looking like he didn't know what to do with a _kind and sincere_ Argent.

"Yes," Peter says smoothly as he stares at Chris. "We all hope to find the person responsible for leaving my niece in such a state."

Chris frowns at those words and the way Peter is looking at him. Did Peter forget about their time together? Forgot about the way he _stole_ Chris’s heart?

Peter doesn’t look at him the same way he used to, he looks like a ghost. A wraith. An angry, vengeful man who has scars on his right side that would make people flinch if they mentioned them. He’s not the same man Chris had remembered before when they were happy, and things were better.

“Yes, I hope they gets found as well,” Chris adds, “Come on, Allison. I think your mother should be finished with lunch by now.”

If Peter flinches or makes a face at those words Chris doesn’t see it because the man is so well practiced in hiding his face.

“Aw, can’t I hang out with Stiles a little more? I never get to see him at school,” Allison frowns, obviously not noticing the tension in the air.

Stiles smiles at her, “It’s cool, Ally. Here lemme get your number and we can text each other to hang out, and maybe next time I won’t get dragged around as a third wheel.”

She flushed at that, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry about that last time. I really didn’t mean to leave you alone at lunch.”

She pulls out her phone and lets Stiles punch in his phone number.

“It’s all cool. You’re still new here and already in the popular crowd, who wants to hang out with a loser like me?” Stiles shrugs off the words easily, already used to people brushing him off.

“Stiles! You’re not a loser. Besides, I actually prefer hanging out with the nerds than the _cool_ people. Sometimes it feels like I’m talking to Barbie dolls at that table, when all I want to do is talk about is Batgirl.”

“New 52?”

“ _The worst_.”

“Oh my _god_ , sorry Scotty, but I am stealing your girl and we are going to do nerdy things. Wait—have you seen Star Wars?”

Allison rolls her eyes, “Uh, of course! A New Hope is the best one!”

Stiles does a fist bump at that, ignoring the fact that the Peter and Chris have been sending each other death glares over the two teens heads.

"Finally!" Stiles almost cheers. "Someone understands me. Do you know that Scott hasn't seen a _single_ Star Wars movie?"

Allison's jaw drops and she looks as horrified as Stiles often does, " _No!_ "

" _Yes!_ " Stiles nods his head before shaking his head in pity. "Do you know how many references just fly by his head like it's nothing?"

"We need a Star Wars movie marathon," Allison decides firmly, and Stiles nods.

"Perhaps he'll finally watch them if you suggest it," Stiles says, knowing it's true.

Seven years he's been trying to get Scott to watch one, just one movie to get some of the references Stiles makes, and Scot had always refused. But if Allison asked? Scott wouldn't even think twice.

"You really think so?" Allison asks with a furrow between her brows. "But you're his best friend."

"If he hasn't watched them with me once in seven years, then he'll never do it for me," Stiles informs her, and Allison's frown deepens as Stiles hands her back her phone.

"You've been trying for _seven years_?" Allison asks in disbelief. "And he hasn't once one?"

"Not his thing apparently," Stiles says while trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone, and Allison shakes her head.

"Allison," Mr Argent touches her shoulder. "Come on, you know your mother will be wondering where we are soon."

"Fine," Allison sighs deeply before turning to look at Stiles. "We'll talk more tomorrow?"

"Sure, sounds fun," Stiles smiles back. "Or you could text me later and we can bitch about the worse moments of Star Wars?"

Allison smiles, that blinding dimple smile, and nods eagerly, "Sounds fun, really wish you were going to the party tonight now."

"Yeah, well, Dads," Stiles shrugs his shoulders, and Allison nods in agreement.

"Allison," Mr Argent says with some frustration, and Allison rolls her eyes.

"Bye Stiles, it was nice seeing you," Allison then looks at Derek and then Peter. "And it was very nice meeting you, Mr Hale, and meeting you properly, Derek."

“You’re not _seriously_ going to play nice with that girl, are you?” Peter says when the Argent’s are out of ear range.

“I don’t think she’s aware of what her family does when things go bump at night,” Stiles answers before turning around to face his Alpha, “You and Chris on the other hand seem to have some background, feel like sharing with the class?”

Peter flashes red-eyes at Stiles.

His wolf snarls at his Beta’s words, wants to grab Stiles by the throat and make him submit because _how dare_ he speak to the Alpha like that. If he even knew what he was doing—challenging the Alpha’s authority like that.

“Peter,” Derek breaks through the fury burning inside of him, and the older man takes a step back.

“We’ll discuss this when I feel like we’re safe. I need to check on somethings first, but...yes...there are somethings we all need to talk about,” Peter tells them cryptically, before turning around and walking away which ends the conversation.

“Your uncle is weird. And sometimes scary. But for some reason I still want to hug him, and ask for homemade cookies,” Stiles tells Derek, before turning to change back into his regular clothes.

Derek sits there in silence, letting Stiles’ words wash over him. Because he understands that feeling with Peter as well.

Being around Peter makes him remember his mom, but with something that feels akin to real unlike what he had with Talia. She was cold and harsh, where Peter was warm and had open arms and soft words. He always gave Derek the best presents when he could, save the best sweets for him and only made Derek’s lunch.

Peter was usually stoic with the girls but when it came to Derek he happily shared his books and knowledge with the boy which had Derek scratching his head.

When he scented Peter, he always smelled like warm baked cookies, the Preserve and just the feeling of _home_ , now with that added scent of Alpha.

It was like the same with Stiles; the boy smelt like home but also with the scent of lightning before it hits the ground and cinnamon. Both of which had Derek wanting to roll around in the boy’s scent, but always stopping before he did so.

"So, what now?" Stiles asks as he comes out with the black shirt, and Derek stands and collects the bags before grabbing the shirt. "Derek!"

"We buy this," Derek tells him as he heads to pay. "Then we'll see if Peter's found anything else for you to try or if he wants to go in another store."

"Seriously, neither of you have to do this," Stiles quickens his stride so he's next to Derek. "My clothes were fine."

Derek snorts, and Stiles glares at him, "Hey! Take the judgement down like ten notches."

"Your clothes made you look like you should still be in middle-school," Derek informs him dryly as they line up to be served, and Stiles pouts at him.

"You're one to talk, Mr I-wear-things-two-sizes-too-small," Stiles says, and Derek gives him a look. "Okay, it was a mouthful, but my point still stands."

"My clothes make me look good," Derek says as he glances around, wrinkling his nose as he notices the glances lust and interest being sent his way. "Your clothes hide everything that could make you look good."

"Maybe I wear things like that because I _don't_ have anything to show off," Stiles says with something snappish in his tone, his scent souring with embarrassment and self-consciousness. "I know what I look like, okay Derek? And there's nothing worth showing off."

Derek looks at him in disbelief and some anger.

Who the _fuck_ told Stiles this bullshit?

“There is _nothing_ wrong with the way you look. And if anyone tells you otherwise I’ll _rip their throats out with_ **my teeth**.”

He flashes his blue-eyes to make a point, ignoring the way Stiles’ cheeks go a little red.

“Oh—uh. Um, sure. Okay then,” Stiles agrees, feeling his tongue getting tied up with itself and his whole body turning red.

Smirking that he’s gotten the point through Stiles’ head, Derek walks them to where Peter is at the food court buying some ice cream.

* * *

Derek’s nose scrunches a little when he smells the heavy scent of grease in the air and the sticky smell of unwashed bathrooms.

“I got ice cream as an apology for snapping at you earlier,” Peter says as he comes back to where they’re standing, and hands over the Blizzard to Stiles. “I believe these are still pretty popular unless I’m really out of touch with things today. And Derek I got you your favorite, at least I hope it still is.”

Derek looks at the mint chocolate chip blizzard and takes it gingerly, giving Peter a small smile in thanks.

Stiles glances at Derek’s ice cream before digging into his own. Glad that Stiles isn’t going to make fun of him for his ice cream choice, Derek digs into his own and hums are the cool flavor on his tongue.

Peter sits across from them both with his own ice cream that’s a small cup of rocky road.

He may seemed relax but he’s constantly glancing around and checking their surrounding in case something happens.

It’s both because he’s the Alpha and from the trauma of the fire that has him always set on edge whenever he leaves the house, his den. His place of safety.

But seeing his Beta’s happily enjoying their ice cream and bickering at one another helps to settle his wolf.

"I have enough clothes now, right?" Stiles asks as he scoops up some of his ice-cream, and Peter gives him a pitying look.

"My dear boy," Peter sighs with a shake of his head. "It pains me that you ask this again. You only have one button-up shirt, no long-sleeve button-ups, and only two pairs of jeans. We still have a _lot_ more shopping ahead of us, after we've dealt with the clothes, we still need to look at the accessories and shoes."

"Accessories?" Stiles almost gapes. "But I'm not a girl."

Peter tsks, "You don't need to be a girl to know the importance of a good accessory, and belts are included in accessories which you are deeply in need of."

"I don't need a belt," Stiles protests, and Peter points at him with his spoon.

"I could yank your jeans off now without even using more than a tenth of my strength," Peter informs him and Derek snorts.

"You can't," Stiles continues to protest, and Peter gives him a look.

"Shall we try to see who is right?" Peter asks, and Stiles almost bites his tongue with how fast he snaps his mouth shut. "Yes, I thought that would be your answer. "

Peter leans back in his chair with some satisfaction as Stiles almost grumpily eats his ice-cream.

"How's this? You don't complain throughout the rest of the clothes shopping and we can go to the book store and look at the comics," Peter offers, and Stiles squints his eyes at Peter.

"You're trying to bribe me," Stiles accuses him, and Peter smirks.

"Is it working?" Peter questions, and Stiles pouts.

"Yes," Stiles says grudgingly making Derek snort as he eats his ice-cream. "Fine, I'll take your bribe."

"Excellent," Peter says smugly, radiating like a smug and satisfied cat.

They finish up another few hours of Stiles having to shop for clothes—much to his hatred, although that’s a little bit of a lie. He never knew shopping could actually be fulfilling when you had someone who knew a thing or two about fashion. However, Stiles would never give Peter the satisfaction of hearing that statement out of his mouth.

They spend another hour in the comic store where Stiles shows Derek some of his favorite comics while also feeling embarrassed a little when the man stands there looking like a gargoyle.

But when he makes a comment or two about Wonder Woman, Derek breaks and the two of them start discussing comics which makes Stiles giddy to have someone to talk to.

“Is it bad, I kind of don’t want to go home?” Stiles asks in the back seat of Peter’s car as they leave the mall.

Peter hums and lowers the radios volume, “It’s part of being in a closely knit Pack, you’re always going to want to be around your Alpha and Pack mates. But there’s no need to worry, I already spoke with your father and you can spend the night again. Granted we’ll need to swing by your place so you can grab a few things.”

“Oh okay, awesome. Cause I really don’t want to have to brush my teeth with my fingers again, that was weird,” Stiles grins, pulling out his phone to reply back to the messages Allison sent him earlier when he sent her back pictures of his new outfits.

* * *

It was easy to drive to Stiles' house, Noah hadn't moved from the house he bought with Claudia all those years ago, and Peter thinks he could drive there blind-folded.

Peter frowns when he pulls up and there's no cruiser in the driveway, and he can't hear any signs of someone being in the house.

Stiles didn't seem to expect Noah to be home, and just hopped out of car while rummaging for his keys, and Peter and Derek follow him.

It almost startles Peter how little it had changed since Claudia's death. The pictures of Stiles on the mantle had been replaced as he aged, but otherwise? It's just like before, apart from the fake mounted fish on the wall— _that_ was definitely new.

"I'll be right back," Stiles says as he almost races up the stairs, tripping and then continuing on all fours making Derek snort as he looks around with an awkwardness that suggests he's not used to being in a family home anymore.

It makes Peter's heart clench, makes him wonder how things were when it was just Derek and Laura.

"Is this you?" Derek's voice breaks him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see Derek looking at one of the photographs on the mantle, and Peter comes closer and smiles as he sees the photo.

It's a bit faded due to sun and age, but it still showed both Claudia and Peter as teenagers and wearing matching sunflower skirts. Claudia holding her skirt up and out to show off the pattern while Peter tried to look very serious with his leather jacket despite sunny yellow sunflower skirt Claudia had conned him into.

Peter snorts, "Of course she'd put this on the mantle."

"You're wearing a skirt," there's a hint of disbelieving laughter in Derek's voice, and Peter puts on an offended look on his face.

"I think I pulled it off quite well," Peter says in a picture of offended dignity.

"You're wearing a leather jacket and combat boots," Derek points out with something akin to a snicker.

"And yet I look a delight," Peter insists with a sniff before glancing at Derek. "Besides, you love my jacket."

Derek rubs the cuffs of the leather jacket he's wearing, Peter's jacket, the jacket that Peter gave him when he entered High school.

“It’s a nice jacket. And you were always the coolest uncle,” Derek smiles at him, his smile is so wide it shows off his bunny teeth.

Oh.

_Oh._

Right, the _cool uncle_.

Peter frowns at the title, he needs to tell Derek the truth and he needs to tell him it fast before things get out of hand and someone else tells him it.

He’s almost tempted to tell him now, lay out the truth but then he hears Stiles fumbling around upstairs and decides it can wait one more day.

And he just hopes Derek won’t hate him afterwards.

Derek picks up another photo of him and Claudia to smile down at it, and then looks at the others.

“You were very grouchy as a teenager,” Derek surmises.

“Hm, yes. I had a lot to be grouchy about, and dramatic,” Peter hides the pain behind a smile and then turns away to study them rest of the Stilinski household, waiting for Stiles to come back down before driving back to the den.

Suddenly it's so much harder to be in this house with Derek right next to him, and suddenly the memories aren't happy.

 _That_ blanket tossed casually over the couch is the same blanket Noah had thrown over him and Claudia that night, when he had arrived on their doorstep haunted and hurting, and after Claudia had shut them in a room so he could shake and sob in her arms as he stuttered his way through what happened, and she stayed up with him all night, running her fingers through his hair as they watched crappy old movies.

 _Those_ kitchen cabinets were in the middle of being painted that shade of blue when Peter found out, and Claudia promised to help him.

 _There's_ the chair Claudia sat him in while she made tea to soothe his stomach after morning-sickness hit hard, and she'd sit next to him and stroke his back as he forced himself to swallow each mouthful of tea.

 _There's_ the door to the back-garden where they had sat and Peter told her Talia had made it impossible to say what happened, that it felt like someone's strangling him whenever he does.

 _There's_ the front door where Talia had stood and Alpha-ordered him home and back to where _Robert_ was, where _he_ could do what _he_ wanted to Peter and Peter couldn't fight back, couldn't risk his pup.

 _There's_ where he collapsed after _finally_ being released from Eichen House and after seeing his pup call Talia "Mama" and the victorious smile Talia had flashed him as she smelled his heart-break and agony, and he had rushed to Claudia and her comforting arms.

 _There's_ where he sat as he drunkenly mourned the loss of Chris and whatever relationship they had, and where Claudia promised to hex Victoria if the bitch ever stepped foot in Beacon Hills.

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be out in the car,” Peter says as he starts to leave only to pause when he sees a blanket fallen behind the couch.

Hands trembling, he picks it up and stares down the familiar fabric, something he hasn’t seen since before Derek’s birth, the little blue blanket he was making for his baby boy.

He turns it around and chokes back a son when he sees the finished embroidery on the inside with Derek’s initials.

D.H. And there’s even a little red heart after it.

He hears Derek call his name but just shakes his head and leaves the house before things get worse, taking the blanket with him because it was _his_ after all.

Not that he ever got to give it to Derek, not that he ever got to swaddle his pup in the soft fabric he took the time to pick out and sewn together.

He’ll never get those years back, never watch his son grow up and take his first step, say his first words and loose his first teeth.

The emotions swell inside of Peter like a roaring flame, and it’s like he’s breaking at the seams.

Just _one_ more thing. _One_ more fucking thing to remind him of the shit he’s been through and how he’ll never get that happiness back and he’s going to fucking _shatter_.

He leans against the car, bringing the blanket to his nose, and despite knowing there would be no scent of Derek on there, he still inhales.

There's no scent of Derek, but faintly there's something that reminds him of Claudia and there's _Stiles._

He remembers being twenty, he remembers the loneliness and the pain, he remembers Talia's poisonous hisses whenever Peter tried to be close to his son, he remembers drinking and he remembers the blank periods in his memory that he's still not sure if it's due to his drinking or if Talia took _something else_ from him, and he remembers going to the hospital.

He remembers Claudia smiling at him, remembers how easily she had held out her baby for him, how she let Peter hold her precious baby despite him being a drunk and Noah having to arrest him a few times.

He remembers the slight weight of the fragile body in his arms, remembers the unique baby smell, and he remembers rubbing his cheek against Stiles' little head like he had longed to do to Derek.

He remembers marvelling over Stiles' tiny hands when he wrapped one whole fist around Peter's little finger, remembers Claudia always trusting him with her son whenever he came around and always willing to let him be a part of Stiles' life in a way he couldn't be with his own pup.

And it _hurt_ , but he had been so thankful for Claudia trusting in him, believing in him, and Stiles—Mieczyslaw, Mischief—had always been delighted to see him.

It hadn't fixed anything, hadn't filled the hole in his heart that cried out for his pup, but it let him focus on something else, let him pretend for a little while that things weren't so dire, that he didn't have to sneak around and hide to spend time with his pup, that he didn't have to stand back and watch Talia claim his place, and he still didn't shudder and feel sick when he felt _Robert's_ eyes on him, watching him, and pretending to be the doting husband to Talia, the dutiful father.

“Peter?”

Peter Hale is a born Alpha werewolf. He’s an apex predator. The thing that makes children scream when they see shadows at night and hear noises. The thing that hunters fear and chase after, and causes their demise.

But when he hears that voice, he _runs_.

He flinched away at first, and then unlocks the door to his car before slipping inside and slamming it shut.

Locking the doors shut and putting the music as high as he can go without making him want to bash his head into the wheel. Chris calls his name again and Peter shakes his head and tries to curl in on himself.

“Fuck off!” Peter tries to roar but it sounds so fucking pathetic even to himself.

“Peter?!” Chris tries to get the man’s attention.

“I think you should step away from the car,” Stiles snarls as he comes running to the car.

Stiles really wishes he had brought his bat with him, that would definitely make an impression, but well, he had been short on time.

There had been Derek in his living room quietly freaking out because something happened that made Peter leave and then it was only happenstance that Stiles glanced out and saw Mr Argent arriving and he saw Peter freak, and then Stiles moved and here is he, all one-hundred-and-forty-seven pounds of him, heading start to a trained and deadly hunter.

Mr Argent steps away from the car and turns so he can still look at Peter while watching Stiles with his hands raised in a gesture of surrender that Stiles immediately distrusts—mostly because he figures it's best to distrust everyone with the last name Argent that isn't paired with the first name Allison.

"Stiles," Mr Argent tries, all calm and reasonable, and Stiles really wishes for his bat.

"No," Stiles snarls, wishing the bite had taken and he could really put some growl and teeth in it. "Back away from the car and leave."

"I just want to talk," Mr Argent looks towards to car, towards Peter. "I just want to talk, Peter."

"Too bad," Stiles grits his teeth as he comes to a stop near the car. "It's very obvious that Peter doesn't want to talk to you, so back off and go away."

"Stiles," Mr Argent begins almost sternly as he looks at him, which is great as long as he's staring at Stiles, he isn't looking at Peter and making whatever panic the Alpha is feeling _worse_. "I don't know how much you know—"

"I know _enough_ ," Stiles cuts off as he steps closer, squaring upon the older and more dangerous man. "I know enough to know that your family have done enough to mine."

"You're claiming the Hale's as family?" Mr Argent questions, a flicker of surprise in his cool blue-eyes, and Stiles leans forward.

"I'm claiming them as _Pack_ ," Stiles says firmly, clearly, and Mr Argent straightens as he looks at Stiles, and Stiles can _see_ him reassessing him, calculating him as a threat.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Don’t be stupid. I’m not a wolf, Argent. Now back away from my Alpha or I’m going to make sure your face gets friendly with the concrete.”

Argent looks this _teenager_ up and down before taking a step back and nods his head.

“I apologize for stepping over boundaries, I really only meant to talk to him,” Chris says.

Derek gawks a little at how Stiles— _Stiles_ a seventeen-year-old teenager—made a prolific hunter _step back_ from him.

“If I ever catch you around my Alpha again, I will make sure you never see the light of day,” Stiles snarls, and he may not be a wolf, but his actions have Chris reaching for his gun.

Derek growls and runs over to stand in front of Stiles, pushing his pack mate behind him to protect him from the hunter.

“Were-were you just about to shoot a _teenager_?” Stiles says with disbelief in his voice.

Chris pulls his hand away, but the damage is done, and Stiles stares at him from around Derek.

"What the _fuck_ is a matter with you?" Stiles demands as he stares at Argent. "I can't believe your first reaction to a verbal threat is to pull a gun on someone, especially when that someone is a _teenager_. A teenager that is the son of the local _Sheriff_ and is a friend of your _daughter_."

A slight flinch as Chris steps back, further away from Stiles and Derek, and the car.

"Seriously, what the hell is a matter with you? Is this what being a Hunter is about? Pulling guns on innocent teenagers who say something you don't like?" Stiles continues as he holds one of Derek's arm as the taller man stands planted in front of him. "Shit, I knew you were must have been fucked up considering what your family does, but _still_."

There's disbelief and disgust in Stiles' expression as he stares flatly at Chris, and Chris almost winces because he can imagine that expression on _Allison's_ face.

"I—"

" _Leave_ ," Derek snarls, flashing blue-eyes briefly.

Chris stares at the werewolf and possible human in front of him, he gives a glance to Peter who’s sitting shocked still in his car like a statue.

Clenching his hands into fists, Chris nods and leaves to go back to his car so they can go their separate ways.

Huffing, Stiles watches without moving until he sees to car is turning down the street and then gives Derek a little tug on his arm before turning to the car where Peter is in.

Opening the car door, Stiles puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder and when the man doesn’t flinch or make a noise, Stiles gives a little tug and helps him out of the front seat of the car.

He moves Peter to the back seat, glancing down at where the man is clutching what looks like a baby blanket, but he doesn’t say anything about it. It could have been what possible triggered his panic attack.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice is full of worry and confusion and it hurts Stiles to hear it like that.

“It’s okay, big guy. I think, Peter just needs some rest right now,” Stiles tells him, “Could you sit in the back with him and make sure he stays calmed down while I drive us home?”

Nodding his head without argument, Derek gets into the backseat with his Uncle and lets the man curl up against his side.

Before he can get into the car, Stiles has to run back inside to grab the bag he dropped after spotting Mr. Argent earlier.

He glances around the room and pauses when he sees the photo of Peter and his mom when they were in high school. There’s an ache in his chest from the sight of his mother’s smile, he misses it dearly.

Setting it back down, he does a sweep of the room before deciding he has everything he needs and then leaves the house, making sure to lock it up before he walks to the car.

Getting into the front seat, Stiles takes a moment to appreciate the nice ride Peter has before starting up the car and leaving.

He keep glances up to the mirror to check on them, Derek giving this little whine in his throat as he rubs his cheek against Peter's hair as the older man lays against him, and it makes Stiles' heart clench as he drives to Peter's apartment building in the more pricier side of town.

Peter's apartment building has its own private and underground parking-lot which Stiles thankfully can access with a click of a button from the little clicker thing Peter kept on his dash, and he didn't have to press a button and talk to security—he didn't want to expose Peter to anyone else when he's like _this_ , and it was bad enough that Mr Argent saw.

Stiles mentally grumbles angrily at the man—it involves waving a fist in his face, lots of curse words, and a vivid description of where Stiles would love to shove his bat—and pulls into the spot right next to where Peter had parked his jeep yesterday.

Stiles really can't believe how much his life has changed in one day, and all because he had the stupid and reckless decision to confront a werewolf he had been 98% sure was killing people.

"Right," Stiles says after turning of the car and turning in his seat to look at Derek. "I'll get the bags, you help Peter, and we try to avoid as many people as possible, okay?"

Derek nods with a tight jaw, holding Peter close, and Stiles nods as he pops the trunk and scrambles to get the bags—really wishing that Peter could have been convinced not to buy so much _stuff_ while wearing his backpack—and Derek helps a still nonverbal or responding Peter out the car.

Stiles throws the older man the keys and closes the trunk before grabbing all the bags with both hands, some of the handles hanging from his forearms, and following as Derek hurries them towards the elevator that will take them to Peter's apartment—because the older man had the penthouse apartment, so the elevator had a special key to take them there.

It's something that really drives home how rich the Hale's are.

And how there was no real excuse why Derek had been living in the burnt ruins of his family home.

* * *

When they enter the apartment, Derek carries Peter to the older man’s room where he sets him on the bed.

Peter curls in on himself and it makes something inside of Derek’s chest clench at the sight of his uncle being so closed off, the man has always been so strong, and it makes him wonder what Argent could have said to him earlier.

Stiles moved all his bags to one of the guest rooms, so nothing clutters the living room.

Once that’s all settled, he walks into Peter’s room to find Derek stroking the older man’s hair and trying to calm him down.

Derek glances up at Stiles and then moves off the bed, “Could you watch over him while I make us some dinner?”

“Of course,” Stiles nods his head, and settles down next to Peter in the bed.

Derek hesitates for a moment at the door, before shaking off his jacket and dripping it over Stiles’ shoulders.

He doesn’t know why, but the sight of it on Stiles comforts him and makes his wolf relax enough for him to leave the room.

Looking at Derek’s receding figure and the jacket, Stiles pulls the collar up a little bit to inhale the scent for a moment.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Peter speaks next to him.

“Claudia?” The man says her name like she’s a ghost, “Don’t—Don’t make them force me back please. I can’t—they took him, he doesn’t even know who I am. I don’t want to be there anymore, he _hurts_ me.”

Stiles isn't meant to be hearing this, he knows this, this was for his mother, for Claudia.

"It's me, Peter, it's Stiles," Stiles swallows as he strokes Peter's long hair. "Shush, it's okay, it's okay."

"I _don't_ want it, I _don't_ ," Peter continues like he didn't hear Stiles. "You know I don't, but Talia," Peter's breathing hitches, " _she_ thinks it's _my_ fault, that _I'm_ asking for it."

Stiles is the son of a police officer, he is the son of the Sheriff, and he has more understanding on how cruel people could be to others, just how they could hurt someone in so many different ways, than most people his age.

Stiles has been sat down many times in his life for a 'talk' about such things, his dad serious and firm as he speaks about signs and what he should look out for.

So, Stiles knows with bone-deep certainty what Peter's talking about, what he's saying, and it makes him feel cold and sick, it makes him feel hot and angry, because he _knows_ , he _knows_ that someone, that someone had _raped_ Peter, someone at the Hale House, a member of his so-called family, and he can piece together who considering Talia's been mentioned, that _his own sister_ won't believe him.

"Peter," Stiles cups the man's jaw and spoke more firmly. "It's me, Stiles. It's okay, it's okay," he swallows thickly, lowering his voice and hoping that Derek isn't listening in, that he's too busy cooking to focus on what they are saying, " _he's_ dead, Peter, _he's_ dead and _he_ can never hurt you or force you again."

Peter gives a sob as he reaches out to clutch at him, to pull him down and hug him as he sobs.

" _He's_ dead," Stiles repeats as he strokes Peter's shuddering back. " _He's_ dead and _he_ won't be coming back, _he'll_ never hurt you again."

Peter _keens_ , it's a sound that's wounded and relieved, and it hurts to listen to, but Stiles just keeps stroking his back and making comforting sounds.

“You’re safe now. I promise, you’re safe,” Stiles presses his nose to the top of Peter’s head in a wolf like gesture. “You’re _safe_.”

* * *

It’s a while—a long while—until Peter slowly crawls his way out of that dark pit he was thrown into. The first thing he smells is Stiles and the mixed scent of Derek, but not as strong as if the man was in the room with him, the next he smells food cooking and his stomach growls with hunger from crying so much.

Opening his eyes, Peter stares up at where Stiles is gentle running fingers through his hair and calming him down.

“Welcome back, big bad,” Stiles teases him gently.

“Wh—I—“ he struggles to form the words even now.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. We brought you back to the apartment, Derek’s making us some food right now. And I think it should be done soon,” Stiles tells him.

Peter gives a little nod of his head and then curls up closer to him, his nose pressing against the leather of the jacket so he could inhale his pup’s scent.

He listens to the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat and Derek in the kitchen, making what smells like homemade spaghetti.

There’s the tapping of the wooden spoon against the pot and then Derek setting it down before coming back to the room.

Derek knocks on the door softly, not wanting to startle anyone as he announces, “Dinner should be done in a few minutes, and the table is already set.”

“Thanks, Derek,” Stiles smiles at the older man, which causes Derek to blush a little. “We’ll be out there in a minute.”

Nodding his head, Derek glances at his uncle before turning to leave back to the kitchen.

Stiles waits for Derek to leave before looking down at Peter.

"You ready for food? Or do you want to clean up first?" Stiles asks softly, deciding against saying anything about what Peter said earlier.

"I," Peter clears his throat slightly, "I think I'll clean myself up a bit. I will see you in the kitchen."

"Sure," Stiles nods as he stands with a stretch, and Peter sits up slowly.

"Stiles?"

Stiles looks back as Peter looks at him slightly unsure, "Yeah?"

"Did I," Peter pauses and licks his dry lips before continuing. "Did I say anything? When I was..."

"Nothing that can't wait until you're ready to tell me yourself," Stiles says firmly, and Peter nods as he looks down slightly before looking up.

"Thank you," Peter takes a deep breath, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Anytime," Stiles says before leaving him, letting Peter finish pulling himself together and heads into the kitchen.

* * *

Derek already dishing up the noodles, heaping them on the plates for him and Peter and frowning as he thinks how much to give Stiles.

"Maybe not as much as what you two are having," Stiles says as he touches Derek lightly on the arm. "I may not be a werewolf, but I _am_ a teenage boy."

Derek snorts as he hands over the pot and a pasta-server, "You can dish your own up, I'll get the sauce and the bread."

" _Garlic_ bread too?" Stiles says as Derek pulls it out of the oven. "Marry me."

Derek blushes, almost dropping the bread, and slamming the pan down on the counter as he turns sharply to Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t notice the werewolf’s reaction as he puts food on his plate and Derek has half a mind to punch a wall for how excited his wolf reacted.

Instead he finishes with pulling the garlic bread out and setting it on the table.

Peter joins them a moment later after he’s washed up and Stiles glances over at him, giving the man a soft smile before digging into the warm dinner.

Relaxing, Peter eats his own dinner at a slower pace while Derek wolfs his food down.

“So, I may or may not have popped the bubble that I was in the Pack to Argent. So me pretending to be stupid about all of this kind of went out the window,” Stiles tells Peter, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

Peter takes in this information slowly before saying, “It’s okay, it would have come out sooner or later. I don’t believe Chris would give the information out though, he was a firm believer in never hurting teenage werewolves,” the man pauses for a moment, “At least, I still hope he is.”

“If he threatens you again, I’ll kill him,” Derek growls.

“Now, now, puppy. If anyone’s doing the maiming, it’s going to be me,” Peter grins and flashes red-eyes.

"Or you know, we could keep the maiming down?" Stiles suggests making the two werewolves give him twin looks. "Or not. Look, I don't think he's going to threaten me like that again, I think I just startled him."

"He almost pulled a gun on you," Derek argues with a growl.

"Yeah," Stiles shakes his head in disbelief. "And I don't _even_ have anything to flash to make me look threatening."

"He almost pulled a _gun_?" Peter says with disbelief, almost dropping his fork.

"Yeah," Stiles frowns slightly. "He seemed a bit off? Like spooked? Or maybe nervous? Well, he didn't react to my threat well."

"Perhaps it would be a good idea not to threaten an armed Hunter," Peter says lightly as Stiles twirls his noodles around his fork.

"I didn't know he was armed!" Stiles protests before stuffing his fork in his mouth.

"He's a Hunter, they're _always_ armed," Derek says darkly as he mops up some of his sauce with his bread.

"Derek is right about that," Peter agrees as he remembers the amount of weaponry he had to remove from Chris' body in the past before they could have sex. "Never think a Hunter is unarmed, it could be the last mistake you ever make."

"I don't think he's going to do it again," Stiles says thoughtfully after swallowing. "I think I spooked him after reminding him I'm both the Sheriff's son _and_ his daughter's friend."

Derek grunts, unconvinced.

"Perhaps you were right," Peter says with a hint of a grimace. "Perhaps being friends with his daughter is a good thing."

“Gosh, you don’t have to say it like I’m pulling your teeth,” Stiles grins at the sour look on Peter’s face.

The Alpha gives him a _look_ and Stiles ducks back in his seat, smirking down at his plate while the two wolves finish their dinner with grumbling moods.

Stiles moans when he takes a bite out of the freshly baked garlic bread, and Derek’s cheeks go red from the noise. He ducks his head not wanting Stiles to see his flushed face, and glares when he realizes Peter can probably smell the scent of his blush.

“Children,” Peter huffs under his breath.

* * *

When they finish the food, Stiles does the dishes for the night and puts up the leftovers before joining Peter and Derek in the living room.

Derek is sitting on the couch end with a book already while Peter is in the leather chair.

Picking up the book he was close to finishing, Stiles takes a seat on the couch by Derek, hoping the man won’t push him away.

Derek glances over at the teenager, and then at Peter who doesn’t seem to have noticed anything going on. Giving in to the wolf, Derek throws his arm around Stiles’ shoulder, using one hand to hold his book up and the other to comfort his mat—Pack. Pack mate.

Looking over the top of his book, Peter smiles as he sees Stiles cuddled up against Derek’s side, happy that the two of them are slowly working things out, and Derek is getting comfortable with people touching him again.

He hopes, in time, that Derek will learn to stop flinching when someone reaches out to touch him.

Stiles keeps his gaze on his book and tries not to be too obvious with his smile as he reads while cuddling against Derek's side.

Stiles is lost to his book soon enough, not even noticing when it starts becoming dark and Peter turns on the lights for him, and only becomes aware of the world when Peter's gently tugging the book from his hands.

"Hey!" Stiles protests with a pout as he looks up at Peter's amused face.

"Time for a shower and bed," Peter tells him as he marks Stiles' place with a bookmark and setting the book to the side. "You have school in the morning, and I'd thought you would want to be well rested to deal with that."

Stiles grumbles as he sits up and stretches, his spine popping slightly, and pouting as he shuffles to the bathroom after collecting everything he needs from his bag and sleeping clothes to change in.

"You can use my private bathroom if you want, pup," Peter tells Derek, and Derek looks up with that look of disbelief that Peter's enforcing a bedtime on him before grumbling as he puts his book to the side—after tucking _his_ bookmark in place, the one that Peter got him years ago—and getting up.

"I _am_ an adult," Derek tells Peter with a scowl, and frowns when something soft and almost fragile appears on Peter's face as he touches Derek's shoulder.

"You'll always be a pup to me," Peter says softly, an odd note to his voice that Derek didn't know what it meant or what to do with. "Besides, I doubt think Stiles would like going to sleep alone, and we can't have that, can we?"

Derek flushes deeply and glares at Peter, growling as he turns and heads to Peter's bedroom and his private bathroom.

It doesn't take long for all three of them to be showered and in various states of undressed as they settle in Peter's large bed.

Stiles automatically turning to Derek and burying his face against Derek's chest as the older teenager hugs him loosely against him while Peter, who hadn't bothered to get dressed after his shower, and just shifted into his Alpha-form to curl around his pup's back while throwing a strong and furry arm over both of his Betas.

* * *

For once, Stiles doesn’t actually know what he wants to wear for school. _For once!_

This has never happened to him before, the only time he’s ever struggled on choosing an outfit was for Halloween, and that was only because he couldn’t decide on whether he wanted to be Batman or Wonder Woman that year!

There’s a knock on the door that startled him out of his contemplation, spinning around he sees Peter leaning against the doorframe and watching him with a smirk.

“You know, if you need help deciding what to wear I could always help,” the man suggests.

“Um—no I’m—“ Stiles looks down at the bed that has clothes set out all over it, and then back at Peter, “Actually, yeah some help would be nice actually.”

“Great. Because I already had an outfit for you picked out.”

Stiles snorts, “What are you? My mom?”

Peter pauses at that, and for a moment Stiles thinks he’s going to snap but then the man just keeps moving like nothing happened.

“Something like that,” the man says mysteriously.

He hands over the denim jeans that fit around Stiles’ legs from yesterday, and a long sleeve maroon shirt with buttons at the top. Peter also pulls out the new Vans he bought for Stiles and hands those over as well as a small box.

“What’s this?” Stiles asks as he takes the small box from his Alpha.

“Something I dug up from the Hale’s ruins, it’s what we use to give the humans in our pack as a symbol to show they were a Hale,” Peter explains, watch as Stiles opens up the box and pulls out a chain necklace with a silver Triskelion attached to it.

“I...thank you, Peter. This is really nice,” Stiles says, staring at the necklace.

“It was your mother’s actually, I gave it to her when she turned eighteen. She used to wear it all the time but before she died, she gave it back to me so I could give it to you.”

"This was my mom's?" Stiles says in awe as he holds necklace even more delicately, and he vaguely remembers his mother wearing some sort of necklace always.

"Yes," Peter says softly, watching as Stiles drops the box on the bed and immediately puts the necklace on. "It's a bit more delicate and feminine compared to what is normally consider masculine, but I figured you wouldn't care considering the history of the necklace."

"Yeah, yeah, you figured right," Stiles toys with the chain and then the charm before turning to Peter and gives a weak grin. "Fuck toxic masculinity, huh?"

"Quite," Peter's mouth twitches in response. "I'll leave you to finish, breakfast will be ready when you're done, and I'll try to have lunch already packed."

"You're packing me lunch?" Stiles stares at Peter, he honestly can't remember the last time someone packed his lunch and thinks it was probably his mom that did it.

"Of course, I remember Beacon High's school lunches," Peter wrinkles his nose. "No wonder you're so skinny."

"You're really channelling Mrs Weasley, you know that, right?" Stiles tells him, and Peter affects a politely confused look on his face.

"Who?" he asks, biting back his grin as Stiles' jaw drops before the teenager points at Peter with a scowl.

"Hey! You can't pull that! Harry Potter came out long before your coma!" Stiles says hotly making Peter smirk slightly before adopting a confused look as he places a hand dramatically to his head.

"Harry....Potter? I can't really remember, it's been so long, and I'm _ever_ so confused," Peter says as he leans against the doorway, and Stiles huffs.

"Bullshit," the teenager declares as he crosses his arms. "You're just messing with me."

"But I had you for a moment," Peter says and leaves the teenager spluttering as he cackles back to the kitchen.

"Stop trying to trick me!" Stiles calls out behind him. "I'm just a poor teenager!"

Derek snorts as he listens and watches impatiently for the coffee to finish brewing.

“Uh-huh, a poor teenager that realized I was the rogue Alpha in hiding with only a few clues, and a night spent on Google?” Peter points out.

“Yes, exactly. Poor teenager,” Stiles mocks a scorned look which gets a cackle from Peter as he leaves the room.

* * *

Fidgeting with the straps on his backpack, Stiles finally decides he’s ready to go to school and walks out of the room.

The moment Derek catches sight of Stiles, he feels his breath catch in his throat, the shirt really does wonders in making Stiles’ muscular arms pop. He wonders how long Stiles has been hiding under those layers of clothes, and how many people are going to be in a shock when they realize how gorgeous Stiles is.

The teenager runs a nervous hand over his buzzcut, and it makes something growl inside of Derek at the thought of others seeing Stiles like this.

Walking over, Derek stares down Stiles for a moment before lifting his hand up and running it through Stiles’ buzzcut.

He pushes down every single urge to claim and mark Stiles any further than just his scent, runs his fingers down Stiles’ cheekbones and then his throat which makes his wolf howl.

“Uh—“ Stiles says softly, breaking Derek out of his trance.

Swallowing thickly, Derek answers, “Scent marking. It-it calms our wolves down. It’s a Pack thing.”

“Oh—well then scent mark away, big guy,” Stiles opens his arms up like he’s waiting for a hug.

Rumbling with excitement, Derek drags Stiles into his arms and rubs his hands all over Stiles his chest and back, and his _throat_. Derek has to make sure to scent Stiles’ throat or else he’s going to go insane.

“I think that’ll do for now, Derek,” Peter chuckles behind him, he only lightly rubs his knuckles down one side of Stiles’ throat. Alpha’s don’t have to scent mark as strongly as a Beta does because their scent is ten times stronger. “Now that we’re all ready, let’s go drop off our little human at school.”

"After breakfast, I was told I'd have breakfast," Stiles says as he looks eagerly towards to the kitchen and the smells of breakfast.

"We can't have you starving, can we?" Peter chuckles as he turns Stiles to the kitchen. "We need to fill you up on your big day."

"I would like to remind you that I _have_ been to school before and this isn't my first day," Stiles reminds Peter as the Alpha pushes him towards the table and where a large breakfast had been laid out. "Shit, you went all out."

Peter looks at table with a frown, "What do you mean? This is a normal breakfast."

Stiles drops his backpack beside his chair and takes it, "Oh, yeah, right, _werewolves_. You probably have to like eat, like loads, right?"

Derek snorts as he takes his seat and holds out his mug for Peter to fill with coffee, pulling the sugar and creamer closer to mix it to his liking.

Stiles enjoys the fact that he doesn’t have to eat a meal alone, Peter is glancing through the newspaper which makes Stiles snort a little to himself.

And Derek for once isn’t dressed like he’s about to join a biker gang, Stiles almost wants to crack a joke about the fact he owns a coloured-shirt but doesn’t. He knows Derek is still dealing with a lot of things so trying something new or branching out must be hard for him and Stiles is just happy the older teen is trying.

“Your father works quickly,” Peter comments as he looks at the headlines stating Peter Hale has woken up from a six year coma.

“He knows a lot of people,” Stiles shrugs, finishing off his third piece of bacon.

“As do I,” Peter says more to himself, picking up his mug and taking a sip.

* * *

When they finish with breakfast and the dishes, it’s finally time to go.

Stiles takes one last look at himself in the mirror, rubbing at his bare arms and feeling a little weird without his usual flannel to hide himself.

“You look fine,” Peter says, coming over to pop the first two buttons. “There, now you look even better. Come on, best not to dilly-dally before your big entrance.”

“This isn’t the intro to a high school romcom, you know that right?” Stiles snarks as he follows the two men to the parked garage.

“It could be,” Peter smirks back at him, opening the door to his car—his very nice, classy and expensive Shelby 1000 Cobra Ford Mustang.

"No thanks," Stiles wrinkles his nose as he slips into the backseat, throwing his backpack to the other seat. "Romcoms are unrealistic, filled with clichés and has an underlining message that I can't get behind."

"There's an underlining message to cheesy teenage romcoms?" Derek asks with some disbelief.

"Yeah," Stiles leans forward to explain. "Normally it's about how you'll only get the guy if you conform to societies' idea of being attractive and pretty. Others, it doesn't matter how much a dick a guy is, someone will find him attractive and love him and shit—which from what I've actually witnessed, is sadly true because of the brainwashing said romcoms do."

"You have strong feelings about romcoms, don't you?" Peter asks in amusement as he heads towards the high school.

"I have strong feelings for many, _many_ , things," Stiles informs them, and Derek snorts.

"Yeah, somehow I got that feeling," the werewolf says dryly.

"Why do I get the feeling you think that's a bad thing?" Stiles pouts at Derek, and he rolls his eyes at the younger teen.

"I don't think it's a bad thing," Derek denies. "I just don't get why you would get worked up about _romcoms_."

"How about because they brainwash generations and generations of us into believing what's right and normal for relationships when they depict actually rather unhealthy relationships when you actually think about it?" Stiles says as he gestures wildly. "How about how they put a lot of importance on how good looking the starring couple is? Or how the girls are always different and other and cute, but always turn into a regular Barbie doll to get the guy?"

“Barbie dolls?”

“Yes, you know. Make up, the hair, the outfit. It’s like the same cover for every romcom and Hallmark movie. Always with the cliches. And don’t even get me _started_ on Christmas Hallmark movies. I am filled with so much rage when I see those things.”

“Hmm, we may have to table this for another day. I would love to listen to your speech on modern romance movies, Stiles,” Peter says, and Stiles pauses a little at that, his cheeks going red because it just feels nice not to be shut down every time he goes on a tangent or talks about the wildest things for hours.

He could probably talk about the history of male circumcision to the Hale’s and neither of them would shut him down. He’s pretty sure Peter would add in an argument or two, while Derek sat there and watched in silence.

Stiles feels his palms start to sweat as the turn down the road to the high school, he hates it, but his brain really does make this out to be the scene of a romcom.

When the girl gets her great “makeover” and is all pretty and stylish, and has everyone’s heads turning.

Peter revs up the engine with has Stiles’ heart doing all sorts of flips and tricks before speeding past Jackson’s silver Porsche and getting into the parking spot in front of the high school.

 _Well fuck, here goes nothing_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he grabs his bag and steps out of the car.

Stiles takes a breath before turning towards the school, internally cringing as heads do turn and he can almost hear the whispers starting which just ups as Derek steps out of the car while looking like he's been on the cover of an adult erotic.

Stiles hooks the strap of his bag over one shoulder and goes over to him, tapping nervously against his thigh as he feels all the stares hitting him.

"Did I forget something or what?" Stiles frowns up at Derek, shifting nervously, and Derek looks around the parking lot before getting a smirk that Stiles immediately distrusts. "I don't like that look."

"Wear this, okay?" Derek asks as he shrugs out of his leather jacket and throws it around Stiles' shoulders.

"A Pack thing?" Stiles asks as he hands his bag over to Derek to slip his arms into the sleeves of the jacket.

Derek's cheek muscle twitches as he hands the bag back over, "Yeah, a Pack thing."

Stiles squints at Derek suspiciously, and Derek just smirks as he rubs his hand against Stiles' throat one more time before getting back into Peter's car.

"You two are going to use that reason to get away with a lot of this, aren't you?" Stiles demands, and the wolves just smirk at him making the teenager roll his eyes with a huff. "See you after school?"

Peter rolls down his window, "I'll be waiting for you, remember to eat your lunch."

"Yes, Mom," Stiles waves as he turns towards the school and the deadly world of teenage politics and popularity contests.

* * *

Stiles makes it up the steps of the high school before someone is throwing their arms around him, he startles and then smiles when he sees its only Allison.

“Hey.”

“Hey? Hey! Hey, he says after getting out of a sexy sports car with two even sexier men driving said car,” Allison rolls her eyes, “Stiles! Oh my god, you look great! I think your boyfriends leather jacket adds to the sexy look.”

Stiles chokes on nothing, and his cheeks go red, “Oh, he’s not—“

“Oh, are you not out yet?” Allison covers her mouth with her hand and glances around, “Sorry, I just thought everyone already knew that you were bi. But for real, your boyfriend is cute. The both of you make a cute pair.”

“Um—“ Stiles feels his cheeks grow even redder and he’s not really sure what to say at the moment.

“Come on, you’re walking me to class, Prince Charming,” she gives him a wink and loops their arms together.

“What about Scott?”

"We're having lunch together, it'll be fine," Allison dismisses. "I'm really sorry about outing you just then."

"I'm...I'm...not...actually," Stiles almost bites his tongue because he really can't say he's not bi, not with the way he has been looking at Derek or with the almost kiss, and all the thoughts and fantasies about him.

"Oh, honey," Allison's face softens with sympathy as they walk to their first class. "You _didn't_ know?"

"I'm having a bisexual awaking and I didn't even realise it properly," Stiles says with some disbelief as Allison pats at his arm. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm so _stupid!_ "

"Not stupid, just maybe emotionally stunted?" Allison suggests with a quirk of her lips as Stiles gapes at her.

"Somehow the idea that I'm emotionally stunted _doesn't_ help," Stiles pauses almost thoughtfully. "Though does make some sense really."

"Are you going to have a major freak out about being possibly bisexual?" Allison asks curiously. "Because I'd advise you to hold it till after school, unless you are into the whole social embarrassment it'll cause."

"I think I'm immune to the whole social embarrassment thing by the virtue of being myself," Stiles informs her. "Truly, nothing can really embarrass me anymore."

"Apart from not properly realising you were having a bisexual awaking?" Allison asks dryly, and Stiles points at her.

"Apart from that," he agrees as he drops his hand as they head towards their lockers. "And it's not really embarrassment, it's more _oh my god_ how didn't I know?"

“So does that mean you’re not dating Derek?”

“ _I wish_ ,” Stiles finds himself muttering under his breath, which causes Allison to giggle.

“Trust me, with the way he kept staring at you I’m sure you’ll have him in no time. And probably half the school after you as well.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at that, stopping at his locker to grab his chemistry book for first period, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Allison gives him a look of disbelief before shaking her head, “You really are oblivious to these kinds of things, aren’t you? It’s okay, I’ll help you see what you are too oblivious to see. Now come on Prince Charming, time to go to class.”

“Are you going to keep calling me that all day?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Stiles!”

“Oh shit,” Stiles ducks his head a little when he hears someone calling his name.

"You know that won't work?" Allison says as she waves towards where Lydia is working determinedly towards them with Jackson at her side and his arm around Lydia's shoulders. "Not when Lydia has the look on her face and when you look like _that_."

"I can hope," Stiles frowns then as he looks at Allison. "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Apart from the fact you weren't wearing things like _that_ since the start of the year?" Lydia says as she comes to a stop beside them. "Stand up straight, Stilinski, and let me see you."

"I feel vaguely terrified at the thought of disobeying you," Stiles informs her honestly as he straightens up and moves away from the relative safety of his locker.

"Good," Lydia says as she smiles sharply before looking Stiles up and down like he's a piece of art she was thinking about buying or a prized dog she's interested in purchasing the stud rights to, to make sure her precious dog births prize-winning pups. "The skinny jeans fit your legs and show off how long they are, the maroon shirt fits you well and will probably show off the muscle tone of your arms if you weren't wearing the oversized boyfriend jacket and push up your sleeves, the necklace is more feminine in style and yet oddly suits you well."

"That's a good thing, right?" Stiles asks as he glances towards Allison with a hint of panic.

"You're almost attractive," Jackson adds which is the highest of compliments from Jackson.

"Thanks?" Stiles says after a moment of staring at him.

"You have to tell me who finally talked you out of your middle-school wardrobe," Lydia says approving as she reaches out to pinch at Stiles'—Derek's—sleeve.

“A family friend.”

“You mean Peter?” Allison raises an eyebrow.

“Peter?” Lydia turns to Stiles, “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Whoa! No, no, no, he’s like almost forty and he’s like a weird uncle slash mom friend,” Stiles explains, “He took me shopping the other day, I guess he also had the same thought about my clothes so—“

He gives a little shrug.

“Peter...Peter... _Peter Hale_? The man who woke up from coma?” Lydia surmises.

“What the fuck are you doing with him?” Jackson raises an eyebrow, “What is he? Like your sugar daddy?”

“Hah-ha,” Stiles says in mock laughter, “No, he’s not my fucking sugar daddy, Jackson. He’s a family friend, he...he was best friends with my mom before she died.”

Jackson makes a noise in the back of his throat, and even Lydia gets a sad look on her face.

Everyone in Beacon Hills knew about his mom and how she died, she touched everyone’s heart in Beacon Hills and was a very kind woman. So it was almost a loss to the entire town when she died.

“Well, I’m just glad he finally got you out of those ratty clothes. Makes me actually want to be seen with you,” Lydia jokes, trying to move the conversation along.

“Wow, really feeling the love here guys.”

"Love is such a strong word, more like tolerate," Jackson snorts, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Of course, I should get my hopes up, huh?" Stiles says dryly, and Jackson smirks cockily as he turns to Lydia.

"I told you I'm everyone's type," Jackson says with that smug cockiness that is Jackson's trademark really.

"Don't flatter yourself, Whittemore," Stiles snorts as he shuts his locker. "You're not my type."

"I'm everyone's type," Jackson says with great offended dignity, and Stiles scoffs.

"Stiles' type is tall, dark and broody," Allison teases making Stiles blush as he flails a hand at her.

"Allison," Stiles hisses, and Jackson scowls lightly.

"I'm _everyone's_ type," Jackson insists making Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Let it go, babe," Lydia tells him as she flicks her hair over her shoulder, and the bell goes over head. "We have class, we'll meet for lunch, right?"

"Why do I feel like I'm included in this?" Stiles says, and Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Of course you're included," Lydia says as they begin to walk to class with Allison looping her arm back through Stiles' and Lydia does the same on the other side. "Don't be silly."

Why did Stiles feel vaguely hunted while being in the place most guys his age would kill to be?

Stiles glances at Jackson who doesn’t even looked bothered that his girlfriend is holding Stiles’ arm.

Gulping, Stiles walks down the hallway with both the girls on his arms, his cheeks flushing a little as people continue to give him glances or stare at him like he grew two heads.

 _Holy fuck. It really is like in the movies_ , he thinks to himself.

* * *

Walking into first period, Stiles finds himself seated between Lydia and Allison, with Jackson sitting behind him.

Scott comes walking in two minutes before the bell rings and gives Stiles a second look over, his nostrils flaring before his squares his shoulders and sits at the desk behind Allison.

Stiles raises an eyebrow at his best friends behaviour, but seeing as Scott instantly gets distracted with Allison not a minute later.

It goes like that through the whole day, people giving him second glances or leaning in to whisper to their friends.

It makes Stiles feel weird but also want to preen, and then when Scott makes an angry huff when Allison loops her arms around Stiles’ instead of his—Stiles feels a little nervous.

He doesn’t want to ruin his friendship with Scott, but the guy needs to chill, Stiles isn’t here to take his girlfriend from him.

* * *

"I was thinking of looking through my old room," Derek admits as Peter shuts the door behind them. "I know the clothes won't fit anymore, I thought I could donate them."

"That sounds fine," Peter says as he sets down his keys slowly, his hands feeling sweaty.

"Peter?" Derek looks at him with some worry, smelling how nervous Peter suddenly is. "What's wrong?"

"I," Peter licks his lips, "I think, I need to speak to you about something."

"Alright...?" Derek trails off questioningly, his face creasing into a confused scowl.

"You...you should sit down," Peter rubs his hands together, they suddenly feel cold and tingly for some reason.

Derek does, his face closing off, but his scent filled with confusion and some dread, and Peter paces slightly before finally sitting in his leather chair. He wanted to sit next to Derek, wanted to be close enough to touch him, but he didn't think that would be a good idea, not with what he's finally able to talk to Derek about.

Peter leans forward to rest his arms against his knees as he clasps his hands, "I...I have wanted to speak with you about this for a long. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't, Talia," Peter shakes his head almost sharply. "Well, it doesn't matter anymore, she's gone, and she can't stop me anymore."

"What does Mom have to do with this?" Derek asks with a frown, and Peter flinches as he grips his hands tighter.

"A lot," Peter clears his throat and stares at his hands, he couldn't bring himself to look at Derek for some reason. "When I was sixteen, I met my mate. He was older, four years, it seems so little now, but it felt like a lot back then. We were a real-life star-cross lovers, Romeo and Juliet, but we—we were happy in our stolen moments together for almost two full years."

He swallows thickly as he realises what he next had to talk about.

"His family began to make their demands and expectations known, and I wasn't in them," Peter begins.

"I could feel him pull away as they kept demanding, and I was lonely, I needed to talk about it to someone. I couldn't go to Talia, she'd demand I'd never see him again, would break us up quicker than his family could, and Claudia had just married, I didn't want to upset her happiness with my troubles."

Peter's breathing hitches, "and then there was _Robert_ , your father and Talia's husband," he licks his lips, "and he was _kind_ to me. I could talk to him and he would listen, he would give me the comfort I needed and couldn't get from Talia. He was my friend, like my brother, and I-I _trusted_ him."

His hands clench together tighter, his breathing getting more ragged.

"One day, one day, the rest of the Pack were out—school, work, you know—and Talia had taken Laura to the park for the day. It was just me and Robert, and we were in my room," Peter can feel the shudder go through him as he thinks back to that day, and he wonders if that was his mistake, that bringing Robert to his room was the reason he thought, Peter shakes his head and continues, "we were just talking, talking like normal, but there must have been something different, something I missed, some signal I gave off or something."

There's a souring of horror in the air as Peter shakes his head sharply again.

"Robert—Robert, he," Peter stops and takes a deep breath, "I _didn't_ want it, I told him," Peter looks up and meets Derek's horrified gaze. "I _didn't_ ," Derek had to know, had to know that Peter said no, that he wasn't like _that_ , that he would never do something like that, and then his gaze drops as he remembers. "I tried to fight him, I hit him, and I clawed at him, but he didn't care, and he _didn't_ stop."

Robert had been older than Peter, bigger, had been able to pin him and claw off his clothes despite Peter struggling, ignoring every time Peter said no, when he shouted it, and the moment Robert got him on his stomach, Peter knew it was over, that he wouldn't be able to stop him.

Peter still remembers the sound of Robert's zipper, remember the relieved groan he gave, and then he had felt it against his hole, pressing in without even giving him the slightest prep.

He screamed, had clawed at his bed as Robert forced himself in, groaning as if he was experiencing the best thing ever, and it felt like he had been split in two, he could feel himself tearing, feel the blood, and Robert just, he just _kept_ going, and began to say such things, such _disgusting_ and _horrible_ things.

It had seemed to take forever, and Peter had tried to numb himself, to drift away from what was happening to his body, and he thinks he did, he thinks he had managed it for a while.

But he had been pulled back with a renewed sense of horror because it hadn't been enough what Robert had already be doing to him, no, he had grunted right in his ear and then—and then Peter had felt him growing, and he realised immediately what he was doing.

Peter, in his panic and fear, had forgotten one thing about Robert—Robert was also a born werewolf—and Robert was reminding him vividly in that moment when _his knot_ began to swell in him, and Peter had screamed harder, more panicked, and he still wonders how Robert could have done that.

Did he force the knot, or had it still came naturally despite what Robert was doing to him? Peter didn't know.

“After that....” Peter goes quiet.

Catatonic.

It reminds Derek of when he had first seen Peter in the hospital, dead to the world, he couldn’t feel anything, trapped in his own body.

“After that, I pretended like things were fine. Talia found me, and she...she said terrible things to me. Hit me, screamed at me, flayed my back until there was blood all over my bed. And then she left me,” Peter says, “I thought that would have been the end, but Robert didn’t stop, and she didn’t stop. It wasn’t until I found out...”

“Found out?” Derek swallows, sitting on the edge of his seat.

“I was pregnant. I spent a year feeling like shit, throwing up all the time, and having the weirdest cravings. And then—“

And now, finally Peter holds up the blanket he had in his hands last night. The one that had brought him to the edge of having a break down.

“And then, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named, Derek Hale.”

Peter hands the blanket over to Derek who takes it with trembling hands.

Derek looks down at the blanket, it’s too small to cover his body but it would have been the perfect size when he was a baby and when he slowly grew up. He spots the initials on the inside.

D. H.

Derek Hale.

"I just wanted to hold my baby," Peter says quietly, "my pup, but they took him—you—from me, I shouted at them to bring my baby back, to bring him back, but they ignored me, you were crying, crying for _me_ , I tried to fight for you, I _did_ , but they had me chained, and then—and then they handed you over to Talia, and I thought this is it, this is why she hadn't done anything too bad during the pregnancy. I thought this is it, this was her plan, she'd let me think I could have my pup, let me think I could keep him and then she was going to kill him."

Peter's gaze drops to the blanket, "I was put in Eichen House after that, but I didn't care. I thought my pup was dead, my baby gone before I could even hold him, and my mate had been pulling away even before—even before Robert. It was a long year, a hard year, and then I was finally released.

I went back to the House, I couldn't even think about going anywhere else though I knew Claudia would have welcomed me home without a thought. And then there you were, beautiful and alive, and I was so happy.

You looked up and called out 'Mama', and for a moment I thought you _knew_ me, that somehow you knew who I was, but then Talia picked you up, and I realised the truth, the truth of Talia's plan and how cruel she was."

Peter clears his throat and blinks rapidly, "I went to Claudia, of course. She had known, Talia had been parading her baby boy all year long while I thought you were dead. And I knew, I _knew_ what I had to do if I wanted to close to you. I stayed at the house as much as I could cope with, I tried to be there for you as much as possible with Talia always watching me and quick to remind me that you were _her_ son. Stolen moments, trying to make sure you were happy and healthy, and everything I had ever wanted for you."

“I just wanted to hold you for one moment. I wanted my pup. And—and she took you! _You were mine!_ You were my baby boy and she fucking took you like you were some toy,” Peter starts to break down slowly. “And when the fire happened I thought, this was it. I’d never get to tell Derek the truth, he’ll never know who his real mom was. And—and I never—I never got to tell you how proud I was of you. My strong little pup, growing up so fast before my eyes and I was dying—“

Derek stands up and Peter goes eerily silent, shaking where he sits while he waits for his son to—to hit him. Yell at him. Call him a liar. _Anything_. He’s told him the truth, laid it all out and he _knows_ —just _knows_ there’s no way Derek would ever want him as his mother.

Derek takes the few steps it takes to stand in front of Peter, and he falls to his knees, clenching the baby blanket in his fist with white knuckles, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“ _I’m sorry_.”

Peter shakes his head, “No. _No_. You have nothing to be sorry for, pup. You’ve done nothing wrong. Never.”

“I’m a rape baby. How can you even stand to look at me? Don’t I remind you of _him_?” Derek quakes.

Cupping Derek’s face in his hands, Peter wipes away the tears on his son’s face.

“I see _my_ pup. I see my handsome baby boy, with his strong cheekbones, and his cute little bunny teeth, and his green eyes,” Peter tells him the truth, pressing his lips to Derek’s forehead. “You’re my pup, you’re always going to be my pup.”

“ _M-Mom_.”

Peter sobs as he pulls his pup, his baby, into his arms properly, rocking him almost absently as if he could turn back nineteen years and Peter could finally hold his baby, and Derek clings back with all his strength.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Peter tells him, pressing kisses over Derek's hair. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Derek demands as he buries his face into Peter's neck, into his _mom's_ neck and tries not to sob. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should have done more, I should have taken you and ran where she couldn't find us," Peter holds Derek tighter. "If I had done that, if I just taken you, then that _bitch_ would never have touched you. I let you down, I should have done something."

Derek shakes his head in denial because he can't believe that Peter would blame himself for _that_ , not when it was _Derek's_ fault. It had been Derek that believed _her_ lies, that thought himself in love with _her_ , and he had known Peter didn't like it, he could tell, and he had still done it!

"It was my fault, it was—"

"You were thirteen," Peter interrupts fiercely. "You were still a _child_. _She raped you_ , it was never, _ever_ , your fault."

"But _I_ wanted it," Derek argues as he holds onto Peter's shirt, it was _nothing_ like what happened to Peter.

"You were _thirteen_ ," Peter repeats as he strokes Derek's hair. "You didn't know any better, it wasn't your fault. It was still _rape_ , Derek."

Derek shakes his head, confused and still in denial because it wasn't the same, it _wasn't_.

 _Kate_ hadn't had to pin him down to have sex with him, she only had to ask in that tone and _touch_ and Derek would be hard in his boxers, so it's obvious that he wanted it, right?

It was nothing like what Robert— _his dad_ —did to Peter— _his mom, his mother._

Oh god, _his dad_ did that, did that to _his mom_ , and that's how Derek happened, and Derek—what if Derek became just like _him_? Just like _his dad_? What if—what if he did that to _Stiles_?

He must have been saying those things out loud because Peter grips him hard.

“ _No_. **No**. You are _nothing_ like that monster. You would never hurt Stiles, _ever_. Do you understand me, Derek?” Peter lifts Derek’s head up so the man is staring at him in the eyes, “I know you. I may have not been able to raise you, but you are _my son_ and you are good. You are the purest thing I have met in this world, and you’re my baby.”

Nodding his head, Derek leans forward to rest his head against Peter’s chest, tears streaming down his cheeks as he soaks in his _mother’s love_.

This is what he’d been missing when he was a child. He always knew there was something about him that kept him separated from Laura and Cora, he just didn’t know how horrible the truth of it was.

He’s so happy Peter didn’t die in the fire, he’s angry at his _father_ for what he had done to Peter. This man, who he had held in high regard, was a fucking monster and if Derek could, he’d kill the man all over again.

Fingers run through his hair and Derek shivers under the touch, melting under his mom’s hand.

And—and it’s such a strange realization how easy it is for Derek to accept that Peter is his mom. His smells like _home and safety_ , like everything Derek needed when he was a child but never had.

It hurts him to think of those times when he had wished Peter would just leave or never come back. When he was angry after Paige’s death, and thought he knew better when he was sleeping with an older woman.

But Peter—his mom— was just being protective and trying to help Derek. He should have listened, he shouldn’t have been such a _stupid_ child.

Peter runs his fingers through his son's hair, holding him close as he breathes in greedy breaths of his son's scent.

"I love you, Pup," Peter tells him as he bends down slightly to press a kiss to Derek's hair. "I love you so much."

"Mom," Derek fists the back of Peter's shirt as he nuzzles against his mother's chest. "I-I love you too."

Peter's grip tighten around Derek, pulling him even closer, and they just sat there, holding each other and taking in each other's scents.

It almost doesn't feel real, Peter thinks as he nuzzles at his pup's hair, that he's here and Derek is here, and Derek doesn't hate him, doesn't blame him.

Only Claudia never blamed him before.

Talia blamed him despite having to know the truth, having found him in his room still dripping with Robert's—and blood, the air stinking of fear, horror and panic. Robert— _Robert_ said such awful things, blaming him too, and the Pack had fallen in line with Talia, had kept their mouths shut despite what was happening.

To know that Derek didn't blame him? It was such a relief.

Pulling back, Derek sniffs and wipes his nose before lifting up the baby blanket in his hands.

“This was for me?” he asks, feeling his heart clench at the fact Peter had already made him a blanket for when he was born.

Derek has always hated the blankets his mother had given to him when he was growing up. None of them had felt right, smelled right, or made him comfortable. He guesses it was because Peter had once wrapped him up in this blanket and held him in it, before being taken away by...by Talia.

“I had a lot of things for you that I could never give you. They’re probably in a box somewhere in the attic of the Stilinski’s house where I left it with Claudia,” Peter explains, still running his fingers through Derek’s hair.

It makes his wolf so pleased and satisfied to be able to touch Derek so freely, to give Derek the affection he needed as a baby and never got. But he’ll make it right, he’ll give Derek everything he needs and wants because that’s what his pup deserves.

“Are you going to tell Stiles about this?”

“Do you want me to?”

Derek nods his head, “He deserves to be told the truth, he’s—I trust him. A lot. I don’t know why but, there’s just something about him that makes me feel safe.”

Peter presses his lips together before deciding, well, they've already had one difficult conversation already, what's one more?

"You do know why though, don't you?" Peter asks softly as he runs his fingers through Derek's hair, and Derek ducks his head as he stares down at the blanket, stroking it absently. "Derek, you think I wouldn't notice?"

Derek stays stubbornly quiet, and Peter tugs on his hair slightly making Derek look up through his lashes.

"Derek, you don't have to hide it," Peter tells him. "This isn't something to be ashamed of, or anything like that."

"I-I _can't_ ," Derek says as he shakes his head. "I _can't_ , I'll _ruin_ him."

"You won't," Peter argues, but Derek just shakes his head stubbornly, totally convinced. "Derek, he's your—"

"No," Derek shakes his head more stubbornly, knocking Peter's hand out of his hair. "I _can't_ , I _won't_ , I don't _deserve_ him—"

"Derek Hale, I will not let you speak about yourself like that," Peter interrupts and says sternly.

Growling in the back of his throat like a puppy who’s being told off, Derek huffs and leans back into Peter’s gentle touches as his mom pets his hair.

“I don’t feel ready for that kind of stuff again,” Derek says honestly, trying to open up about the things that have been haunting him for years.

“A relationship?”

“No. Well, yes, but also intimacy. It—I get sick when I think about being so close and vulnerable with people anymore. But when I think about Stiles, he...he makes me what to do things like that again, I feel warm on the inside and out. And I just...” Derek blows air out through his nostrils. “What if I’m broken?”

“You’re not broken. Because if you’re broken then I’m in shambles,” Peter answers, “He’s your mate, but even though he’s supposed to be the perfect match for you, it doesn’t mean he can force himself on you. Or you can force yourself on him. He’s not going to instantly fix your trauma because your mates, it doesn’t work like that. But he’s there for you when you need him.”

He pauses for a moment and then adds with a smirk, “Besides, I don’t think Noah would be too happy to catch you sniffing around his underage son.”

Derek covers his face with his hands and groans, “Don’t remind me! It’s bad enough I can tell he might have feelings for me, I don’t want to scare him away or make him feel like I don’t want him.”

Humming, Peter gives Derek’s hair a little tug as he stands up, “Come on, pup. I think we should make some cookies and let me tell you about the joys of going steady. Triple fudge with peanut butter cookies are still your favorite right?”

* * *

Okay, if Stiles got another side-glare or angry huff from his so-called best friend, he's going to scream.

Honestly, couldn't Scott use the super sniff that allows him to perfectly pinpoint all the different notes of Allison's perfume, and use it to realise that Stiles really didn't want to steal his girlfriend?

Just because Stiles is talking to Allison, and just because she's taken to looping their arms together, doesn't mean that Stiles wants to get away in their relationship!

And the silent treatment? Really? Really, Scott? It doesn't really work as well as it used to considering that Lydia, Allison and Jackson— _Jackson!_ —is all too happy to talk with him which is weird and mostly due to the power of the make-over—at least that's the case with Lydia and Jackson.

The bell rings for lunch, and he wonders if Scott is still keeping to this silent treatment plan of his or if he's finally going to say whatever he's been chewing over all day?

"Ready for lunch?" Allison smiles at him as she packs her stuff away from the desk beside him, a spot she's taken all day.

Stiles smiles back, ignoring the grumble from Scott's direction, and thinks about finally discovering what Peter decided to make for his lunch—probably making far too much considering the werewolves didn't know how much a normal human should eat and Peter is under the opinion that Stiles is a tooth pick that needs fattening up—and packs his stuff away too as he stands and throws his bag over one shoulder.

"Sounds good," Stiles tells her just before a five-foot-three fiery-haired goddess appeared at his side and loops her arm around his. "Hello, Lydia."

"Stiles," Lydia smiles up at him with her perfectly glossed lips. "You wouldn't be trying to get out of lunch with us?"

"And suffer your wrath? Never," Stiles shakes his head as Scott quickly moves to secure Allison's arm before she can finish getting her bag over her shoulder and thus move towards Stiles, and Jackson scoffs behind Stiles.

Jackson loops his other arm around with Stiles’ which has the boy raising his eyebrows before giving in and letting them walk to the cafeteria.

Where everyone is _staring_ and _whispering_ under their breaths.

It makes Stiles’ skin crawl and has the urge to run and hide away in the library like he’s been doing since Scott got the bite. But Lydia and Jackson have a steel grip on his arms as they lead him to the “popular table” before having him sit down between them.

“So, Stiles how do you think you did on the chemistry test?” Lydia asks as Jackson jumps up to get them lunch.

Snorting, Stiles opens up his bag to pull out the bento box styled lunch Peter had made for him.

“With Harris being the teacher? He’ll probably find a way to fail me again,” Stiles answers, opening the box up and staring in hunger at all the food Peter packed him.

“Oh wow, what is all that?” Allison leans over to stare in hunger at Stiles’ food, along with a few others at the table.

Picking up the sticky note Peter left on the box, Stiles reads out, “Zucchini Noodle Caprese and Baked Chicken, along with some fruits, sliced avocado. A few homemade Florida rolls and some homemade chocolate chip fudge cookies.”

Jackson makes a noise as he sits back at the table with trays for him and Lydia, “What the hell? Did you get a maid?”

Stiles chuckles at that, if anyone had called Peter a maid to his face, the man would have them torn to pieces.

“No, definitely not a maid. Just a really cool friend,” Stiles grins and takes a bite of the baked chicken.

Stiles lets out a surprised moan of delight at the taste baked chicken.

"Now I really want what you are having," Allison says with a grin as she leans closer, and Jackson throws an arm over the back of Stiles chair.

"What to try some?" Stiles asks as he holds out the wooden fork that came with the box, and Allison eagerly leans forward to take the piece of chicken as Scott almost slams down his tray next to her.

"This friend of yours even cut the fruit into shapes," Lydia says as she picks up a small slice of melon cut into a star, leaning close so her hair brushes against Stiles. "I need to meet this friend."

"Probably not a good idea," Scott says as he scowls as Allison gives a little moan of delight.

"Was it Peter? If so, can he cook us dinner sometime?" Allison asks eagerly as she savours the bite of chicken Stiles shared with her. "Because I would _kill_ to have a meal like that."

"Wait, you _know_ about Peter?" Scott demands with a hint of horror, and Allison gives him a confused look as Jackson leans close to Stiles.

"Can I try some?" Jackson asks, his voice dropping, and Stiles flushes as he almost drops his fork and cuts off another chunk to share, and Jackson keeps eye-contact as he eats the chicken off Stiles' fork, and he gives this moan. "Allison's right, this _is_ good."

"Yeah?" Allison answers Scott with confusion as his face seems to twist. "I met him yesterday when I was at the mall. I ran into Stiles there and met Peter, Derek was with him too."

"Derek," Lydia hums, green-eyes intent as they turn from the interesting sight of Jackson being flirty to Allison. "That's a new name."

"Derek Hale, he's Stiles' Mr Tall, Dark and Broody," Allison smirks as Stiles yelps and looks at her with mild horror.

"Allison!"

The evil Disney Princess just laughs lightly, dimples showing.

"What do you mean, you _met_ him?" Scott demands. "And _Derek_ was there?" he turns to Stiles. "You were with _them_?"

Allison frowns at Scott while Stiles sighs.

Shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair, Stiles says, “Yes, Scott. They were both there and were very civil. And I even got to meet Allison’s _lovely_ father.”

Scott makes a face at that.

“I can’t believe you’re hanging out with **them** ,” Scott says with vice in his voice.

“Will you _chill_?” Stiles snaps, unsure where this harsh protective streak of his is coming from. “I knew Peter before the fire, he’s a nice man and was best friends with my mom. So he’s a family friend.”

Lydia glances between both the boys with a look of curiosity on her face.

“Hey, can I get some more of that chicken?”

Stiles pulls his box closer to his chest, “By this rate I won’t have any food if you guys keep asking for more bites.”

Jackson pouts and Stiles rolls his eyes, “Here, have a sushi roll.”

Jackson takes the sushi roll before eyeing his lunch tray in disappointment as Stiles starts in on the noodles with another groan of enjoyment that makes Jackson shift and Lydia smirk.

"Speaking of yesterday," Allison begins trying to ease the strange tension between Stiles and Scott, and trying to shake off Scott's strange behaviour. "We got to talking, and Star Wars came up—"

Scott immediately groans, and looks like he's about to say something to Allison, probably apologising for Stiles badgering her about Star Wars or something like that, Stiles thinks with a surprising bitterness.

"And I was thinking we should do a movie night, and binge them," Allison ignores Scott as she continues brightly, looking hopefully at Lydia and Jackson.

"It'll be a date then, another double date but with all of us," Lydia says brightly. "This Friday?"

"How could it be a double date?" Scott asks in confusion before giving a look that Stiles thinks is meant to be sympathetic, but falls just short. "Or is Stiles not invited?"

"Of course he's invited," Jackson scoffs immediately. "He's one of the people that thought of it."

"And it'll be a double day because it'll be you and Allison, and then me, Stiles and Jackson," Lydia adds brightly, and Scott's confusion deepens and twists something a bit more ugly that makes Stiles' stomach drop slightly despite the heavenly food in it.

"You can't do that though," Scott argues. "You can't date two people at once."

"And why not?" Lydia asks with a sharpness to her smile that Stiles recognises as when her intelligence is being brought into question and she's determined to cut the poor misinformed fool down to size and make them easier to crush under her expensive heels while Jackson leans back and makes a point with moving his arm to drape around Stiles' shoulders and pull him close.

"You have a problem with this, McCall?" Jackson asks almost lazily, blue-eyes sharp and intent in a very familiar way.

Scott pulls back a little at the way both of them jump at him.

He scoffs, “It’s not like Stiles is even gay.”

At those words something boils inside of Stiles if it had been a year or two ago he would have agreed with that statement. However, due to recent things being brought into the light Stiles has realized he probably isn’t as straight as he thought he was.

If the way he keeps turning to inhale Derek’s scent on the leather jacket has anything to say about that.

“Actually, Scotty, I’m bisexual. So I’m like half gay, half straight,” Stiles shrugs, ducking his head a little when everyone turns to give him a look.

“I knew it,” Danny says from where he’s sitting, and when everyone turns to give him a raised eyebrow he says, “What? It was kind of obvious growing up. Besides, I’ve seen your internet history.”

“Since when!?”

“Last year English project, you left the room and I may or may not have stumbled upon your porn folder. There was _way_ too much leather porn in there of bearded men and twinks for you to be straight.”

“Can we not talk about my porn folder?” Stiles covers his burning face with his hands, slouching in his seat as he does so.

“Leather and gruff looking men. Hmm, I guess Tall, Dark and Handsome really _is_ your type.” Lydia teases.

"I can pull off leather," Jackson says making Danny snort and Jackson throws him a look. "Hey, I can."

"But you aren't gruff looking," Lydia points out making him pout, but Stiles had peeked up from his hands and his gaze is watching Scott with mounting dread.

Scott had gone from gaping disbelief to that mulish bull-headed stubborn look that always got him into trouble that Stiles had to bail them out of and then be blamed for, and Stiles breaches himself.

It still doesn't prepare him for the feeling like his breath has been knocked out of him with Scott's words.

"But that's not a real thing," Scott says, and the whole table goes quiet as eyes turn to stare at Scott.

Scott flushes under the unfavourable attention, but he sets his crooked jaw and holds his head high as he defends himself, "Well it isn't!"

"You don't think bisexuality is a real thing?" Allison asks in disbelief as she angles herself away from Scott.

"Well it's not," Scott argues. "You're either gay or you're straight."

"What about Pansexuality? Asexuality?" Lydia questions as she straightens. "And that without going into the romantic part of relationships and if you feel romantic love or not."

Scott shakes his head, stubborn, and Stiles actually preys he doesn't say something else stupid.

"Asexuality isn't a thing, it's just an excuse to not have sex," Scott says, and vaguely Stiles hears someone gasps as neighbouring tables are elbowed and the noise decreases, and Stiles wants to lunge forward, to smack his hand over Scott's mouth and stop him, but he can't move, it's like he's watching a car accident and he's frozen in horror. "And Pansexuality and Bisexuality is just excuses to act like a slut."

There's more than one gasp this time, a murmur of disbelief, and Scott flushes as he realises just how many people are staring at him in disbelief and horror.

Beacon Hills is strange for a small town in the lack of hate crimes due to someone's sexuality. They had their own gay club that had special nights just for minors, so teenagers in the community could see they weren't alone.

There was a reason that no one gave Danny shit about coming out as gay and being part of a sport's team, and it wasn't just because he was Jackson's best friend and Jackson promised to ruin anyone that made fun of him for being gay, and that was that Beacon Hills prides itself of being an accepting town, and to hear one of their own sprout such bullshit?

Well, Scott's popularity is going to die a brutal and fiery death of his own making.

“Right,” Stiles pushes his seat back and closes his box up, not really feeling hungry anymore. “I just forgot I had to turn a book into the library. Nice sitting with you guys today.”

He hears Allison call his name but can’t look back at her as he basically speed walks out of the cafeteria. Sniffing, Stiles clenches his fist as he tells himself he’s not going to cry. _He’s not._

Scott has always been a piece of shit, but Stiles never knew how much that shittiness extended to.

He finds a nice quiet spot outside on the bleachers and takes a seat so he can finish the rest of his lunch. Pulling his phone out he texts Peter:

**User: Lunch is great :)**

Before putting his phone back down, and listening to the sounds of the outside world, only to be startled when someone takes a seat next to him.

“Allison?” He glances around, “What are you doing here?”

“What I can’t sit with my friend and comfort him?” Allison teases.

Shrugging, Stiles bites out, “Do you even want to be seen hanging around with a _slut_?”

"You're not a slut," Allison says fiercely, almost snapping with the force of her emotions before she visibly calms herself.

"If you're a slut Stilinski, then so am I," Jackson says as he drops down on his other side with no warning, and still throwing an arm behind Stiles' back like it was nothing.

"If I had known we were going to be sitting outside, I'd have brought a packed lunch," Lydia says as she settles on a lower bench and can lean back between Jackson's legs, before glancing up at Stiles with a hint of a smile. "So, I hope you are prepared to share."

"I heard there was cookies in the box," Danny settles down in front of Allison. "If they are as good as the chicken looks like then I'm willing to fight Jackson for them."

"Why only me?" Jackson asks in mock outrage, and Danny smirks up at him.

"Because I know I can win against you," Danny says without hesitation making Allison and Lydia smirk smugly, and Jackson to snort.

"W-why aren't you in there?" Stiles asks in confusion as he clutches at the lunch Peter must have taken so much time to make him, and a lunch he thought completely ruined by him.

"If I wanted to surround myself with such stupidity, Stiles, I'd have invited Greenberg to sit with us," Lydia informs him almost snidely. "I can't stay around people that bring down my IQ by merely breathing, and Scott has proven himself to be one of those capable of doing that."

"You really expect me to sit with McCall and be fine? Especially after he called me a slut too?" Jackson snorts and shakes his head. "I've never liked McCall, and just because he's been sitting with us because of Allison doesn't mean I've changed my mind."

"Just because he thinks my sexuality is real doesn't mean I think what he said is right or forgivable," Danny says as he unscrews his drinks' lid. "Also despite Jackson being a slut—"

"Hey," Jackson mimes a kick towards him that Danny calmly ignores.

"I take offense to anyone pointing that out in a bad way," Danny continues.

“I’m not a slut,” Jackson pouts, crossing his arms over his chest as he says so.

“Kind of are, but in a good way,” Danny teases, “Now, where are those cookies? I want one.”

“Aw, man,” Stiles glances down at his five cookies. “Fine, everyone can have a cookie. But that means you can’t try anything else. This is _my_ lunch.”

“You better give me Peter’s phone number, because I am going to hire this man to be my personal lunch box maker. These are delicious,” Lydia states as she eats her cookie slowly, wanting to enjoy every bite of it.

Stiles grins at that, “Something tells me Peter may or may not be ok with that. He’s a hard man to read at times.”

“Well, his cooking is fabulous. And if he keeps making you things like this, I might have to bully you for your lunch.”

Stiles pulls his bento box closer to his chest, and points his fork at her, “I may be terrified of you, but no one is getting between me and Peter’s cooking.”

“Unless it’s Derek,” Allison pipes in:

“Yeah, unless it’s—hey! You can’t trick me like that!”

"Actually, I can since I'm your friend," Allison says smugly as she breaks off a bit of her cookie and pops it in her grinning mouth. "It says so, right in the friendship code."

"Friendship code, huh?" Stiles asks her, and Allison nods. "And what does this friendship code say?"

"If your friend has a crush, you must tease and trick them until they admit it," Allison says as if she's remembering something, a hint of a grin pulling at her lips, "and then you help them get said crush."

"I don't have a crush," Stiles protests and Allison just gives him a look. "Okay, I have a crush, but he's completely out of my league."

Jackson snorts, "Dressed like you are? You're almost in my league, so it's obvious you can't be out of his league."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," Stiles says after a moment of staring at Jackson in mild shock, and Jackson smirks at him as he leans closer.

"Does that mean you've fallen for me?" Jackson asks as he looks through his impossibly long lashes up at Stiles, and Stiles bursts into laughter.

"Please don't tell me a line like that actually works," Stiles says through laughter as Jackson leans back, only slightly disgruntled, and the other teen shrugs.

"Sometimes I only have to smile at them, and they come running," Jackson pretends to shrug modestly as Lydia rolls her eyes and Danny looks at him with a smirk.

"And how are you not a slut again?" Danny askes innocently making Jackson scowl at him.

"It seems you're going to have to work on your flirting skills, babe," Lydia looks up at Jackson with teasing green-eyes. "If you want Stiles to even want to be in our bed by the end of our date."

Stiles chokes on his bite of noodles and swallows harshly, "Our date?"

"Uh-huh," Lydia leans against Jackson's lean as she looks up at Stiles. "You around one of our houses, Star Wars, snacks and maybe a drink or two, and we can see where the night leads us," Lydia's eyes drag down him until Stiles feels his face flaming.

"And wear those jeans again," Lydia's eyes focus somewhere south from his face, "I like guys that can show off _all_ their _equipment_."

Stiles frowns and follows her gaze, he promptly chokes and covers his crotch area with his box and turns to Allison with some embarrassed betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me that everyone could see my," Stiles trails off as he glances down, and Allison giggles.

"Probably because everyone was enjoying seeing it?" Danny offers with a smirk.

“I’m going to strangle Peter,” Stiles growls to himself as he finishes his food before the bell rings, sitting back and listening to the chatter as his friends talk amongst one another.

* * *

When lunch finishes, Stiles feels his cheeks go a little red as they tease him a few more times before leaving him alone.

School flies by after that, mostly with Stiles avoiding Scott as much as he can and blushing every time someone _flirts_ with him.

It feels like he walked into an alternate universe where he’s hot and everyone wants a piece of him, and honestly it’s a little hard to wrap his head around the whole thing but he starts as polite as he can, letting people down easily before running away.

It’s weird because his past self would have jumped at the chance to be in a relationship with someone. But after Derek...he may or may not be having a relapse with the Lydia thing again.

And if he makes a ten year plan that’s between him and the back of his English notebook.

* * *

When school finally ends, Stiles laughs along with a horrible joke Allison made as the go to exit the building. Lydia and Jackson on his other side, Lydia on her phone texting and Jackson looking bored as hell.

Only to stop when the revving of a familiar engine catches their attention.

Peter leans in the back of his seat where he’s behind the driving wheel, sunglasses on his face and hair styled to make him look like the star of an 80s movie. He looks rich, the way his head leans back with a little smirk like he knows everyone is watching.

And Derek? The fucking asshole is leaning against the passenger side of the car, aviators on and his arms crossed in front of his chest to show off his bulging biceps. Stiles feels like a dog as he drools at the sight of Derek in tight jeans, short sleeve shirt looking like America’s top next model.

“Oh wow, you are right. He is Tall, Dark _and_ Handsome,” Lydia says next to him.

Stiles gives a strangled noise as Derek, the fucker, smirks while Jackson huffs as he straightens.

"I'm still better looking," Jackson insists making Lydia pat him on the arm absently.

"Of course you are, babe," Lydia says almost absently as her gaze zeroes on Peter. "The one driving is Peter? Tell him I'd pay for him to make my lunch every day."

Peter's smirk widens slightly as he no doubt listens in.

"I'll tell him," Stiles says somewhat awkwardly, knowing he wouldn't have to considering both werewolves could hear just fine. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure," Lydia turns to smile brightly up at him as Jackson wraps his arm around Lydia and looks somewhat smug as he smirks at Stiles. "We'll talk more about our date, yeah?"

Stiles flushes as Derek's smirk turns into a scowl, and he stutters slightly, "Y-you weren't joking?"

"We don't joke about things like this," Jackson says with a slight scowl, and Lydia leans forward and lowers her voice.

"Just think about how the night could go," she begins as Stiles flushes deeper and Allison pretends to be completely focused on her phone. "You between us? Or maybe," Lydia's voice takes on another tone and one hand reaches up to tug Jackson's head back by the hair, "You'd prefer to see Jackson between us?"

Stiles may have feelings for Derek, may have the beginning of a new ten-year-plan, but he can't help the way he watches Jackson's eyes flutter close with something akin to a moan and Lydia smirks smugly as she trails one nail down Jackson's throat.

"Isn't he pretty?" Lydia says in a coaxing tone. "He can be very submissive despite his mouth."

Stiles swallows thickly and tries to subtly move his bag in front of his crotch.

"Though I'm sure you could find a way to keep his mouth busy," Lydia adds as she traces her hand further down Jackson's chest.

"Stiles," Derek interrupts with a hint of a growl, suddenly standing right next to him and Stiles yelps as he holds his bag closer.

“Derek,” Stiles says in answer, he’s pretty sure his face is doing a perfect impression of a tomato right now.

The wolf towered over him and a low growl escapes his throat. He wants to bare his teeth and flash his blue-eyes at the human until he runs away.

“Hey, big guy—uh,” Stiles says, a hand coming up to pat Derek’s chest.

He squeaks when Derek throws an arm over his shoulders, and his hand comes up to stroke down Stiles’ throat, the wolf wraps his long fingers around Stiles’ throat to mark his scent all over him before letting it rest there.

“Come on. Don’t want to keep Peter waiting, now do we?” Derek smirks, bringing a finger to pull down his aviators as he stares at Stiles’ lips.

“Um-Uh, no, we don’t,” Stiles stutters out.

Derek gives him this little smirk that has Stiles weak to the knees, the man glancing up to stare down at the three other teenagers before giving Stiles a tug.

Leading him away, Derek drops his arm down to wrap it around Stiles’ waist, glancing behind him to send a murderous look at Jackson and Lydia.

When they get to the car he opens up the back door for Stiles, glancing around and scowling when he sees Argent picking up his daughter.

“Come along, Derek. No need to play with the teens anymore, I’m sure you already got their attention as it is,” Peter smirks.

Derek huffs as he slides in next to Stiles and throws his arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulling him against his side.

 _"I don't like him,"_ Derek hears Jackson say to Lydia.

 _"It seems we have competition,"_ Lydia muses without taking notice of her boyfriend's pout, and Derek wants to bare his teeth at them, but he settles with pulling Stiles closer to him and lowering his head to rub his cheek against Stiles' buzzcut.

"Scent marking, yeah?" Stiles swallows nervously, wishing he could discreetly pull his bag back over his crotch and hide how obvious it is he's getting a more than a bit turned on by Derek being so close to him, holding him, rubbing his cheek against his hair, and oh god, he smells like cookies at the moment and cookies shouldn't turn him on, but it's _Derek_.

Peter snorts at the smell of arousal coming from the backseat and pulls away from the school, and back towards his apartment and home.

Derek can't help the rumble that escapes him, his wolf encouraging him to take his mate and drenching him in _his_ scent until Stiles smells of _StilesandDerek_ , and any werewolf would know to back off from _his_ mate.

Derek shakes his head sharply, pushing away his wolf and the word mate, and tries not to get pulled by the scent of Stiles' arousal.

“So, um I’m guessing you heard everyone really like the lunch you made for me?” Stiles starts, trying to move the conversation and think about _anything_ else but Derek rubbing all over him like a house cat.

“Oh yes, I heard. But I’m not going to take up the offer. I only make food for my pups and that’s it,” Peter answers plainly, his wolf growling a little at Stiles sharing the meal he made for him with outsiders.

But he pulls it back and reminds the wolf that Stiles is human, and is already _theirs_ , he can share the food as much as he wants but he still belongs to the Hale pack.

“Lunch was really good, how in the world did you have time to make this all?” Stiles feels his eyes flutter close as Derek rubs his hand over his stomach and making him feel sleepy and warm.

“Derek helped make some of it while we were making breakfast,” Peter explains, glancing in the rear view mirror to check if anyone is following them before turning down his street.

“Hm, that’s nice of you Der,” Stiles mumbles, “Dude, I’m going to fall asleep if you don’t stop petting me.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek grouches, keeling up his petting while pressing his nose against Stiles’ throat.

Peter smiles when he smells the content coming off of his son and Stiles, he slows down a little so the two of them can enjoy this moment a while longer before they get to the den.

"Mmkay," Stiles says as his eyes flutter close as his head drops to against Derek as he dozes.

Derek rumbles with contentment as he covers up the scents of _others_ and replaces it with only his scent, and he has to resist the urge to lick at Stiles' throat or maybe suck a little mark as a claim against Stiles' neck.

He has to pull his nose and mouth away from Stiles' throat, his beautiful and unmarked throat, and contents himself with Stiles' head against Derek's shoulder as he keeps petting over Stiles.

"You may have to carry him up," Peter says quietly as he get closer to their den, and Derek pulls Stiles closer.

Peter doesn't need to look back to see the soft look on Derek's face as he watches Stiles, and he pulls up to the underground parking entrance and clicks the button to open up the gate and he drives in and then to his parking-space.

* * *

Derek does carry Stiles up to the apartment, cradling the teenager in his arms and resisting the urge to claim and do anything that isn’t PG-13 with Stiles.

Especially when Stiles’ face turns to the side and noses against his throat, it has his wolf groaning with the need for more, so desperate for human contact, but he pulls away and sets Stiles down on Peter’s bed before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Sighing as he sees his old bedroom, Derek makes his way over to the room and looks at all his old junk there.

The bookshelf with comics and other books of the sort, a few action figures sitting on there that his younger self thought he was too cool for when he was a teenager.

He thought if he did sports he wouldn’t be the weird gangly kid and would finally start filling out, now he hates that he tried to hide all the interest he had here, thought if he put them in Peter’s apartment he’d never see them again because he rarely came over to Peter’s place.

Now, he wished more than anything he spent more time here, spent more time with his real mom and not some hoax of a woman that filled him with lies and always turned away when he was hurt.

“Did you want to keep everything in here? Or give it away? It’s still your stuff, even though it’s in my house. I was never going to touch it,” Peter says from the doorway.

Derek shrugs, and sets the Superman action figure back on the shelf, “I might clean it up, maybe turn it into an office or a second bedroom.”

“I have an office in here you can use if you need one,” Peter tells him, watching as Derek takes a seat on the small single bed, looking like a giant as he sits on it.

“I know but um—I was thinking. Something Laura said when we were in New York,” he clenches his fist together as he struggles with the words, “I want to start college classes again but...”

“If it’s about money, I promise we’re not short on any,” Peter tells him, coming to sit down next to his son.

“No it’s not that, I um. I want to get better, for Stiles—and myself. I don’t want to keep struggling with simple things,” he tries to explain without saying the words.

“You want to see a therapist?”

Derek clenches his jaw and nods shortly, trying to push away the embarrassment and shame that always comes when he thought about going to therapy.

It had made him walk away whenever Laura thought to bring it up, made him shut himself in his room and work out until he dropped, shaking, on the floor and Laura decided not to bring it up again for another year.

Peter nods thoughtfully beside him, "I think we should both see a therapist."

"What?" Derek looks up in surprise, and Peter's face tightens as he looks down at his clasped hands.

"I realised today," Peter clears his throat slightly, "that I haven't dealt with what happened to me."

Derek swallows thickly as he realises what he meant, and he tries not to feel sick because he thinks he may be sick this time as what happened to Peter—to _his_ mom—has fully sunk in.

"Claudia said I should talk to someone about it," Peter twists his lips dryly and bitterly, "but she also wanted me to tell Noah, get justice."

But it had been too late, Peter had healed, and it would be down to Peter's word against Robert's and Talia's, and he didn't have any doubts who would win the court of public opinion.

"Anyway, we should do this together," Peter says after a moment. "Get help together. I'll look into someone in the know, someone we can talk to fully without editing and actually getting help."

"That sounds good," Derek says somewhat gruffly, still feeling some shame and embarrassment at the idea of having to go to therapy.

Turning his head, Peter wraps an arm around Derek’s shoulders and brings his son close to his chest.

“Listen to me, pup, there is _nothing_ to be ashamed about asking for help. Okay?” Peter presses his lips to his son’s forehead and squeezes Derek in his arms. “It’s okay to be scared, but never be embarrassed, these people are to help broken people like us.”

“We are kind of fucked up, aren’t we?” Derek chuckles, which earns a snort from Peter.

“Certainly,” he glances around the room that was made for an adolescent boy and not a man, “Perhaps I should let you borrow my laptop, and you can find yourself some stuff you want. Put it in the cart and I’ll pay for it.”

“Mom, you don’t have to.”

“Ah, but I need to make up for years of missed birthdays and Christmas’s. And besides, I always want to spoil my son,” Peter smiles.

"You don't have to," Derek protests again, Talia's admonishment of him being greedy ringing in his ears.

"Perhaps I want to," Peter tugs his son closer, burying his nose against his pup's hair. "I want you to have everything you want or need to be happy and healthy, and changing this room can be the first thing we start with, okay?"

"Together?" Derek rests against Peter easily, still marvelling that he has his mom here and with him, his real mom that loves him and wants him to be happy.

"Always, Pup," Peter presses a kiss to Derek's hair. "From now on, we'll do things together."

Derek turns into Peter, holding him close and buries his nose against Peter's throat as he breathes in the scent of home, of his mom.

"Are you having a puppy-pile without me?" Stiles asks groggily from the doorway, rubbing his eyes still slightly sleepy and pouting at them. "That's mean."

Peter chuckles and opens up one arm for Stiles to shuffle over and curl into him, perching on Peter's knee, and Stiles slumps, so he's resting against both Peter and Derek, and Peter chuckles as Stiles seems to fall back to sleep now he's with them.

“I do like this one. He’s adorable,” Peter says as he pets the back of Stiles’ head, humming at how soft the buzzcut feels under his hand.

“I like him too,” Derek agrees, wanting to take Stiles and curl around him but also not wanting to fight with his Alpha.

Humming, Peter runs his hand over Stiles’ head once more before standing up, “I think we should wake him up in a bit, don’t want to mess with his sleep cycle now do we. I’ll go start on dinner and you can look on my laptop while waiting.”

“Okay...mom.”

Peter’s heart swells at his son calls him by that title, he runs his fingers through Derek’s hair until their wolves are purring, and then leaving the room to head towards the kitchen, pulling in an apron while he opens up the fridge and figures out what to make that evening.

“Hmmm, homemade pizza sounds good,” Peter says to himself as he pulls out the cold pizza dough and other things he’ll need to make pizza.

* * *

Derek hesitates as he looks down at where Stiles slumps against him, and then he sweeps up Stiles into his arms and moves them out to the living room where he lays Stiles out on the couch and sits down after grabbing Peter's laptop.

He smiles slightly as Stiles wriggles his way closer and noses at his thigh, and he moves his hand to pet at Stiles' hair as he waits for the laptop to boot up.

"What's your password?" Derek calls softly.

"DH241292," Peter answers promptly from the kitchen, and Derek pauses as a warm feeling spreads through his chest and he types in his initials and date of birth.

Derek pulls up Google and he taps idly as he wonders where he should start.

Paint, he can buy in town and it would let him properly choose the colour he wants, and the little things he may need, he could find in the mall.

Furniture could be something to look into, proper furniture that can handle the abuse of werewolf, and not breaking like tissue-paper like most flat-packed furniture he could get in town.

Wood would fit in with the rest of Peter's furniture as Peter's apartment is filled with wood—custom-build wooden bookcases filling three of the walls of the living-room, a wooden trunk used as the coffee-table, an antique wooden side table by Peter's prized and comfortable leather armchair, and wooden frames for all of his photos and pieces of the art decorating the free wall and that was just the living-room.

So, he needs to look into custom wood furniture, a matching set because he knows Peter wouldn't be impressed if he just ordered a bed.

Derek gets about half an hour into looking up some furniture he wants and eyeing at college classes before Stiles wakes up.

The human inhaled deeply and nuzzles his face against Derek’s thigh before freezing when he realizes what he’s doing.

Pulling away, cheeks red, Stiles mutters a soft, “Sorry,” and then tries to get off the couch to hide in embarrassment.

But Derek simply loops an arm around his waist and pulls him back down on the couch with him, turning his head around so he can nose at the fine hairs on top of Stiles’ head, and puff his breath so his scent gets all over him.

Stiles settles against him, watching as Derek silently clicks through the pages and looks at the furniture.

“Oh, that looks nice,” Stiles points at the dark wooden bookshelf.

Derek makes a hum in the back of his throat, before adding it to the cart.

They both settle there for a while bouncing off which furniture would go good in his new room until Peter finishes with the pizza.

“Alright, pups. Dinner is all nice and done, come and get it while it’s hot,” Peter announces, setting down two large hot pizzas on the table.

Stiles stretches his arms over his head, getting ready to get off the couch when he says, “Aw man, your uncle—“

“Mom. He’s uh, my mom,” Derek corrects.

Blinking, Stiles smiles and then says, “Your mom is the best. I love his cooking so much.”

Derek ducks his head with a small smile as Stiles stands and heads towards the kitchen.

"You sure you'll have enough?" Stiles eyes the two large pizzas, and Peter smirks as he dishes up a load potatoes wedges on the three plates he already laid out.

"Touché," Stiles says as he sits down in what he's come to claim as _his_ chair while Derek enters the kitchen. "So, am I staying here or going home tonight?"

"I've talked with Noah," Peter says as he cuts up the pizzas in large slices. "He says you can stay here for another night as long as you complete your homework and go to school without any issue."

"Cool," Stiles says as he almost burns his fingers picking up on of those wedges and biting into with a half-pained moan.

"You could wait, you know?" Derek says dryly, and then completely ruins his high ground by using his claws to pick up a wedge and eat it, and having to wave a hand at his mouth.

"Really? Stiles gives him a look. "You telling me to patient and then do the same thing?"

"I heal," Derek says maturely making Peter snort as he places the first slice on everyone's plate.

"That isn't an excuse though," Stiles insists as he points at Derek.

Peter sits there watching his pups happily bicker and snark at one another, the feeling of something settling deep within his chest, as the Alpha instincts inside of him purr with joy.

Of course that all comes to a flat end when Stiles announces he’s studying over at Allison’s house tomorrow.

“Absolutely not,” Peter growls, flashing red-eyes as he does so.

“What? Why not?” Stiles frowns.

“Have you forgotten that her family is a bunch of hunters? The ones who burnt our house down.”

Stiles makes a face, “No. I haven’t forgotten, and I never will. But Allison, I don’t think she’s aware yet of what her family does, and I know it sounds stupid. But I feel like, if I’m friends with her and the time comes she can talk to me and ask if what her family says about werewolves. I can tell her the truth.”

“And what would the truth be?”

A slow smile curls it’s way on Stiles’ face, “That werewolves are a bunch of giant puppies that love to cuddle, and Peter is the best Alpha.”

A growl rises in Peter’s throat, as he drags Stiles into his arms, “You’re going to scare me to an early grave, you know that?”

“I mean, we haven’t figured out what I am yet. So maybe I can somehow magically bring back the dead,” Stiles teases.

Peter snorts and rubs his cheek against Stiles' head before letting the teen to move back to his chair and finish eating.

"We're driving you there and home," Peter says firmly, and Stiles gives a playful salute.

"Yes, Alpha," Stiles says with a cheeky grin making Peter roll his eyes fondly.

"Will Lydia and Jackson be there?" Derek says somewhat grumpily, and Stiles flushes as he remembers the scene they were about to witness.

"Yeah, yeah they are," Stiles looks down awkwardly and mops up some pizza sauce with his potatoes wedge, and Derek gives a little growl as he takes a big and unhappy bite of his pizza.

On the one hand, Derek isn't happy and having his son so unhappy isn't what he wants. But on the other hand, it's cute to see his son be jealous despite the obvious crush Stiles is harbouring on him.

 _Ah, the hardship of motherhood_ , Peter muses as he watches his pups.

"Oh, and Danny, Danny will be there," Stiles gives a smile. "Everyone loves Danny."

 _Do you love Danny?_ Derek wonders as he stares at Stiles. _Or do I only have to worry about Lydia and Jackson?_

Peter covers his mouth to hide his coo as he watches his son fret and stew in his jealousy, it was so _adorable_.

* * *

When they finish up with dinner, Stiles suggest they watch a movie and then bullies both the older men into sitting down at the couch and watching it with him. Grinning when both of them pretend to be annoyed but both enjoy the movie.

Peter is surprised a little when Stiles pushes him to sit in the middle, and throws a blanket over all three of them. His wolf purrs at having his son and Stiles curled up against his side.

Derek throwing an arm around them all so he cannot, so secretly scent mark Stiles, while Stiles leans against him without noticing anything.

“Did you finish all your homework?”‘ Peter asks half way through the movie which gets Stiles pausing.

“Um—maybe some of it. But I haven’t really gotten around to math,” Stiles answers.

“After this movie you’re going to finish all your homework, or no cookies.”

Groaning, Stiles curls up against Peter and nods his head, “Fine. But only because I love your cookies, not because you told me to.”

"Of course," Peter hides his smirk as he turns back to the movie.

Stiles squints at Peter suspiciously before turning back to the movie with a grumble as Derek press his smirk against Peter's shoulder.

"It is because of the cookies," Stiles insists after a moment, and Derek snorts.

"Of course, my dear boy," Peter agrees easily, and Stiles snuggles against him with another grumble, throwing one arm over Peter's stomach, and Derek takes the chance to rub his thumb against the back of Stiles' wrist almost idly as he watches the movie.

* * *

The movie ends and Stiles grumbles as he pulls out his school work from his backpack, and settles on the couch to suffer with AP Calculus. Derek sits next to him still with Peter’s laptop on his lap as he finishes up looking at anything he might want in his room.

Peter sits across from them with a glass of whiskey and an old book on his lap, flipping through the pages as he listens to the calming sound of pen scratching against paper and fingers tapping on the keyboard.

A page he comes upon has him pausing as he rereads it over and over again before flipping through the book to come upon some other things of interest.

Finishing up his glass of whiskey, Peter looks up and holds the glass out, “Stiles, would you do me a favour and get me another glass of whiskey?”

Stretching his arms over his head, Stiles gives a little shrug as he says, “Yeah, sure.”

Reaching over to grab the glass from Peter, the older man smirks and then drops the glass.

“Oops.”

“Wait! _Shit!_ ” Stiles flails, trying to grab the glass out of thin air, only to shut his eyes when he expects to hear the sound of glass shattering against the floor, only it never comes.

Opening his eyes, Stiles feels his mouth drop open as he stares at the glass still frozen in mid-air.

“I think I just found out what you are, my dear boy.” Peter says, his eyes never leaving the glass.

"Please tell me you didn't just drop what looks like expensive glass just to test if I had superpowers," Stiles says flatly as he stares at the frozen glass.

"Stiles, my dear boy, of course it's expensive," Peter tsks lightly, as if disappointed that Stiles would think he wouldn't have some ridiculously expensive glassware to drink his whiskey and other alcoholic drinks from. "It's crystal glassware."

" _Oh my god_ ," Stiles whimpers as he beholds the tumbler he's holding with the power of his mind and that costs anywhere over one thousand dollars, and he tumbles off the couch to grab it before whatever he's doing wears off.

He doesn't even what to know what make the tumbler is or if it's antique, because knowing Peter? Knowing Stiles' luck? It's probably antique and fiendishly expensive, and probably costs more than everything Stiles has ever owned in his whole life.

"And it's not a superpower," Peter continues as if Stiles isn't hugging the tumbler to his chest on the floor.

"Uh, hell yes it is," Stiles argues, unable to stop himself. "I didn't want it to fall and I stopped it with the power of my mind! That's some telekinesis power there."

"Stiles," Peter gives a sigh as if he hates that he has to break Stiles of his disillusion, but is still going to take some joy in it. "We don't deal with science fiction."

"Oh, just fantasy then?" Stiles snarks at the actual werewolf, and Peter's lips twitches into a smirk.

"Quite," Peter inclines his head. "When you stopped my tumbler from falling, you used your will and magic, not your mind _and_ not telekinesis."

"It's magical telekinesis," Stiles argues because he's so not giving up the telekinesis thing because he finally has _superpowers_ , and he won't let Peter take it away from him with things like magic.

Stiles pauses, okay, magic _is_ cool, and doesn't have the normally horrible or traumatic backstory that superpowers need to become a thing.

Though he's horribly overdue his Hogwarts letter if he's magic.

“Okay, so I’m like the older version of Harry Potter?” Stiles jokes.

“Less being the chosen one, and more magical powers. You’re a Spark,” Peter explains, which has Derek’s attention jerking upwards.

“A spark?”

“Spark. With a capital S,” Peter corrects.

“Okay, what does being a _Spark_ entail? Can I like only do somethings? It doesn’t really sound all the impressive,” Stiles settles back on the couch, rubbing at his chin.

“Unlike what the title says, a Spark actually is one of the most powerful of all magic users. Unlike the others, your abilities aren’t enabled with the help of nature, a wand or books. You use your magic by the sheer force of will and belief,” Peter explained, shifting his book around so Stiles could see it.

“Oooh, I don’t know about that. Me and my self-esteem issues don’t really go hand in hand,” Stiles said nonchalantly as he took the book.

"How you can be so confident facing what you believe is a crazy werewolf and yet have such lacking confidence in other areas, I will never understand," Peter shakes his head. "But we can work on your self-esteem issues."

Stiles makes a noncommitting noise as he scans the page, chewing his bottom lip as the page basically says what Peter's already told him, but with more words and descriptions of other Sparks.

Because Peter actually _believes_ that Stiles is a Spark which makes Stiles almost blanch because really? Him? A Spark? A powerful magic user? That doesn't sound right.

Stiles is the annoying and somewhat witty side-kick. The kid with ADHD and a mouth that always gets him into trouble. The impulsive idiot that drags his best friend on a hunt for a dead body and ends up getting said best friend bitten by a werewolf after believing he had protected said friend from the worse thing in their world; parental disappointment and disapproval. And he's the freak of nature that the Bite didn't work on.

 _Oh, right, and the slut that can't decide on a **proper** sexuality_, Stiles adds with a surge of bitterness as he remembers Scott's words.

"How does stopping a tumbler from smashing into teeny tiny and expensive bits make you think I'm a Spark?" Stiles asks as he hands the book back, more than a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"Because you did that on reflex without any training, no spell, no foci, nothing," Peter points out with raised eyebrows. "Though just because you are a Spark," no doubt in his voice, Stiles notes, and he doesn't know if he's flattered or terrified by Peter's faith, "doesn't mean you'll be able to do what you want. I think it’s something you'll need to work on and develop like any skill."

"So, more homework?" Stiles quips, and Peter smiles, understanding and filled with faith in _Stiles_.

"More of a group project really," the older man says gently. "We can work on this as a Pack, something I'd greatly prefer we do."

“This better involve a lot of fun and magical shenanigans, or I’m returning this,” Stiles huffs, picking the book back up so he can look over the stuff on Sparks.

Derek looks up from where he was typing away on the laptop to look up and watch the scene before him. He huffs a little at Stiles’ antics, a smile twitching it’s way on to his face.

“So, is there like a magical teacher you’re going to find to train me?” Stiles flips over to another page, his eyes catching on the words _”Werewolf Mating Habits”_ and he memorizes the page number for later.

Peter grimaces at the thought of speaking to Deaton, not only that but asking the man for help? After all he’s done to Peter?

No. He would _never_ go that low. Not even if he was on his last dying breath.

“No. Unfortunately, sparks are extremely rare in this day and age. And I wouldn’t trust a single magic user to train you because they’re usually selfish and would try to steal your power,” Peter answers darkly.

“Oh, come on. I can’t be _that_ powerful,” Stiles waves him off.

Peter gives him a _look_ , “Stiles, you just froze time. Without even thinking about it. That is practically impossible to any magic user, even the strongest or oldest one could _never_ accomplish something like that.”

Stiles immediately scoffs in disbelief, "I didn't freeze _time_. I stopped the tumbler with magical telekinesis."

"That didn't waver in your shock?" Peter asks almost archly, giving him a look. "The tumbler didn't waver or move until you touched it. You stopped time around the tumbler."

"But that's—that's," Stiles almost bites his tongue because he almost said impossible to the werewolf in front of him.

Impossible stopped being a real thing to him since Scott was bitten and proved to be a real life werewolf from myth and legend.

"Okay, so I may have stopped time," Stiles says weakly, trying to remember that show Charmed, and that sister—her name was Piper, he thinks—that could stop things on a molecular level which made it seem like she stopped time.

So, Stiles probably didn't stop time because that would be _insane_ , but he may have stopped the molecules around the tumbler or something? He didn't know! He needed to do some much research on this.

"Yes, you stopped time," Peter agrees almost dryly.

"Okay, I need to research this shit right now," Stiles says as he looks around—where did he put his pills again?

"Is your homework done?" Peter arches one brow, and Stiles freezes as he looks almost guiltily at his half-completed homework.

"Yes?" Stiles tries making Derek snort and Peter to give him a disappointed look at even trying to lie to a werewolf, and Stiles slumps. "But _research!_ "

"Research that can wait till the weekend," Peter says sternly, and Stiles gapes at him in disbelief.

"You expect me to put off researching everything I can find on magic for the rest of the _week_?" Stiles demands almost shrilly making Derek snort again.

“The faster you are, the quicker you can do some research before your bedtime,” Peter quips, taking the book back from Stiles’ hands.

“ _A bedtime!?_ I’m seventeen! I don’t need a bedtime,” Stiles exclaims, flopping back down on the couch and pouting like a child.

“Don’t worry, Derek also has a bedtime as well.”

“What! But I’m nineteen! I’m an adult,” Derek growls the last part a bit.

“Wait, you’re nineteen? Dude, I thought you were like twenty-four or something. We’re basically two years apart,” Stiles goes quiet for a moment, “Huh, weird. All this time I thought you were older.”

“Trauma tends to make people appear older than they are. Not me of course, I always look good no matter what my age is,” Peter smirks, and settles back in his seat with the book in hand.

“This is so dumb,” Stiles growls, and it sounds something akin to a wolf’s growl which has Derek flushing a little, the redness going unnoticed as Stiles focuses on his homework with a laser like focus that has both of the wolves raising their eyebrows.

“Teenagers,” Peter rolls his eyes, and then stands up to walk over to his bookshelf and collect all the books he knows Stiles will need for later, taking note on which ones he will have to go find in the Hale vault.

Peter taps his fingers on the stack of books and hums, he should probably look into the vault sooner rather than later considering he didn't know how much access Talia gave Deaton, and he would rather have the priceless tomes his family's been responsible for decades and centuries be safe and under his care instead of possibly in the greedy and grubby hands of Alan Deaton.

Derek moves his attention to back to the laptop as Stiles' pencil scratches over the paper next to him as the younger teenage mutters and grumbles to himself.

Derek's involved with reading some of the local hobby classes offered—he didn't know that the local college offered night classes for things like pottery, basket-weaving, glass-blowing and things like that when Stiles gives a cheer as he flops away from his books and back against the couch.

"I am free," Stiles declares before turning to Peter and makes gimme-hands. "Books! Research! My life's calling!"

Peter snorts as he hands over the smallest book over to the eager teenager, and snorts again as Stiles hugs it to his chest briefly before flipping it open.

“It’s a good thing I have enough books on magical theory and such to hold your interest, I’m afraid what would happen if you didn’t have them,” Peter says as he sets down another handful of books on the table.

“Probably stay up on eBay looking for any and all books of Sparks and that sort. Maybe spend three hours on fake supernatural websites until my eyes burned,” Stiles answers like he’d already done such thing before.

* * *

It’s about thirty minutes into reading when Stiles’ phone goes off, making a face he picks it up and raises an eyebrow when he sees its Allison calling.

“Hey, what’s up Allison!” he says with a smile on his face, ignoring the growls he gets from the wolves.

He hears a sob come from the other side of the phone, and immediately Stiles is on his feet, “Allison?”

“Can you come over?” she says through tears.

“Yes. Of course, are you okay? Do I need to get you anything? Chocolate, wine, pads? Um, other things girls need when they’re sad?” Stiles says, getting off the couch and grabbing his keys, while shoving his feet into his shoes.

“No, you don’t have to get anything. I just—I just need to talk to a friend. And maybe cry on a shoulder,” she tells him, sniffling through the line and making Stiles move a little faster.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he tells her before hanging up.

Peter stops him right before he can get to the door, he gives the older man an exasperated look at that.

“What if it’s a trap?” The Alpha growls.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “She’s a teenage girl, I doubt she’s plotting my death. She’s probably on her period.”

“I’m driving you,” Peter says, leaving no room for argument.

"Do you even know where the Argent's live?" Stiles asks as Peter takes his keys and throws them over to Derek.

The werewolf grabs the keys without looking up from the laptop, affecting the image of completely unaffected by the idea of Stiles going to the Argent's. Stiles didn't trust the image considering how tense Derek's sitting and the way his gaze hasn't moved from a certain place on the screen.

"Of course I do," Peter says with some offense, he prides himself knowing where any possible enemy lives in Beacon Hills.

"Alright," Stiles says and Peter goes to grab his keys and a jacket.

"Wear my jacket," Derek says when Stiles heads for the door, and Stiles frowns slightly, but he nods and grabs the leather jacket from off the couch and pulls it on. "Keep your phone on you."

"Will do," Stiles says as Peter comes back with his jacket on.

"Let's go then," Peter sighs before a twisted smirk comes on his face. "It'll be nice to see how Victoria is nowadays."

"Somehow I don't trust that smirk," Stiles says as he follows behind Peter and out of the door.

"Good instincts," Peter informs him as he heads towards the elevator.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles follows Peter down to the parking garage where Peter parked his car, they both get in and Stiles suffers the silence Peter is giving him in the car ride.

“You didn’t have to come, you know. I could have just gotten an Uber or something,” Stiles picks at his nails, a nervous habit he picked up in middle school that never went away.

“And leave you to defend for yourself against the Argents? Never. You’re my Beta, you may not have been my first one, but you chose me as your Alpha. And I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe,” Peter tells him in a steely voice, making sure Stiles understands how much he means to him—to the Hale’s in this pack.

Looking over, Stiles bites in his thumb as he sees the hard look on Peter’s face.

“Thank you, Alpha.”

His wolf purrs at that and he wants to reach over and drag Stiles into a hug, but then he catches sight of the Argent’s house. And his wolf begins to snarl and grabs its teeth with rage and fury, but also whine because _Chris_ and _mate_.

“You can do this, Peter,” he tells himself quietly.

Stiles chews on his nail as he hears the mutter from Peter just as they pull up in front of it.

"I can just text you later?" Stiles offers only for Peter to give him a look before he opens the door, and Stiles is quick to follow because no way is he allowing Peter to walk up to the door alone.

Stiles almost trips as he hurries to the door and rings the bell before Peter, his Alpha watching him with a faint raised eyebrow.

It's reminds him strongly on Scott's first full moon when Mrs Argent opens the door with a cool look on her face.

"Yes?" she asks calmly in a cool tone and then her face twists as Peter shifts, her green eyes narrow into slits. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Victoria," Peter lies without blinking, a smirk curling his lips as he shoves his mildly shaking hands into his jacket pockets. "I believe your daughter is expecting us."

"What do you know about _my_ daughter?" Victoria demands coldly, furiously, her hand clenching around the door and looking moments from slamming it into their faces.

"Stiles?"

Stiles looks away from the obviously furious Hunter lady to the balcony where Allison is standing with red-rim eyes.

"Hey, Allison," Stiles waves his hand weakly as Mrs Argent turns her gaze on him, green-eyes blazing with quiet murder, and Allison gives a sob before racing for the stairs and down them.

Stiles braces himself, and Allison throws herself against him with another sob as she wraps her arms around Stiles.

"I suppose you should come in then," Mrs Argent says stiffly and reluctantly as she steps away from the doorway, and Stiles shuffles into the house with Allison wrapped around him and Peter's hand at the middle of his back.

“I didn’t think you wanted to come in and deal with teenage antics, Mr. Hale,” Victoria spits the words out as sweetly as she can.

“Oh, well seeing as I’m Stiles’ ride back to his house, I don’t feel like leaving him,” Peter smiles viciously at her, stepping into the house like he runs the place.

Chris stares at Peter like he’s seeing a walking ghost.

Stiles glances down at them before being led to Allison’s room, where she curls up on the bed against him.

“So um, as much as my preteen self would have loved to share a bed with a girl. May I ask what you brought me here for?” Stiles says, brushing Allison’s hair out of her face.

“I broke up with Scott.”

“Oh...oh shit,” Stiles hugs her closer, “And you didn’t want me to bring ice cream!”

She chuckles a little, and then sniffs, “No, my dad already got me a pint.”

"Do you want to talk about it?" Stiles asks after a moment.

"No," Allison says immediately before seeming to think about and lets out a sigh. "Yes."

"Take as much time as you need," Stiles says as Allison rests her head on his chest.

"Thanks," Allison says quietly, chewing on her bottom lip and wiping at her cheek. "I really liked him."

"I know," Stiles says as he strokes her back, not adding that Scott really liked her too.

"I thought he was a good guy," Allison says as she fists at Stiles' shirt.

Stiles bites his lip to stop saying that Stiles once thought that too, before asking softly, "Is this about what happened today?"

"Yes!" Allison sits up and clenches her fists. "I can't believe he thought like that! In this day and age? What the hell? And he said that basically to your face? You're his best friend!"

"He could change?" Stiles offers weakly, sounding unconvinced to himself, and Allison looks at him almost sadly before flopping back down.

"It wasn't just that," Allison admits as she looks at Stiles' shirt, wishing he had changed into one of his funny or ironic shirts, so Allison could have something to look at instead of just maroon. "It was just kind of the last straw, you know?"

“What did he do before that upset you?” Stiles asks.

“He was just—I don’t know. He kept having these mods swings, one minute he was nice the next he was just angry and _growling_. I didn’t even do anything, and he’d get angry for no reason,” she explained.

Something about her words clicked in Stiles’ brain and he found himself smacking his forehead in his mind.

How could he be so stupid? Scott was still a werewolf without a pack, he was probably going Omega while Stiles was living it up with his pack.

“I’m sorry. I knew you really liked him. And he liked you a lot as well,” Stiles answers, running his fingers through Allison’s hair.

“Maybe I should just take a break from boys, all they seem to do is give me emotions and extra weight,” Allison mumbles.

Stiles snorts, “Does that mean I should leave then?”

“Only if you’re going to go get the Rocky Road ice cream I have in the freezer.”

Stiles throws a hand over his heart, “Rocky Road! Allison, you’re a girl after my own heart.”

“Shut up, and go get the ice cream so we can binge watch Buffy and be sad together,” she laughs, and it makes Stiles smile because he was able to make her feel better.

"One pint of Rocky Road ice-cream coming right up," Stiles says as he gets up off the bed. "You get Buffy ready and on your favourite episode, okay?"

"Okay," Allison gives a small smile as she sits up and reaches for her laptop as Stiles backs into the hallway.

 _Right, now to enter the battlefield below_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he heads towards the stairs. _Please, don't let there be blood. Please don't let there be blood._

Stiles walks down the stairs with his fingers crossed, and almost immediately shivers as he can practically feel the icy and tense air between the three adults standing like they were about to duel.

Three pairs of eyes turn to him as he stops at the bottom of the steps.

"I'm here for the ice-cream?" Stiles trails off into a squeak under Mrs Argent's dangerously cold eyes.

"Chris, why don't you show Stiles where you put the ice-cream," Victoria states more than asks as her narrowed gaze turns to Peter. "I'll keep our _guest_ entertained."

"Victoria," Chris says quietly, but Victoria throws him a sharp glance.

" _Now_ , Chris," she says almost as sharply as her glance was.

"Afraid of leaving your husband alone with me after all these years?" Peter chuckles almost coldly as he smirks at Victoria. "You flatter me."

"I will not leave my husband alone with his beast of a whore," Victoria says coldly making Stiles gasp as he looks between a wincing Chris and a stone-faced Peter with wide-eyes. "I _remember_ how you were like, a bitch in heat whenever he was around. I wouldn't be surprised if I left for a moment and come back to find you on your hands and knees with your ass bare, that's your favourite place to be, right?"

Peter almost flinches, and only doesn't because he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of getting at him even though her words made him remember:

 _"This is your favourite place to be, right?"_ the ghost of Robert's voice groans against his ear, and Peter has to swallow bile.

“Dude, I don’t know what the fuck happened between you guys, but could you seriously not?” Stiles snaps, mostly staring at Victoria.

The woman gives him a sharp-eyed look, “What do you know boy? More importantly why are you hanging around with a _dirty dog_ like this man?”

 _She doesn’t know_ , Stiles tells himself as he thinks about his next choice in words.

“He’s a family friend. He used to babysit me before my mom died, and they were close. But I’m not here to fight some family feud. I’m here for Allison, your daughter who’s upstairs crying because Scott broke her heart,” Stiles clenches his jaw and marches off to the kitchen.

“I’ll uh—I’ll go show him where the ice cream is.” Chris says, before turning to follow Stiles into the kitchen.

“I hope you aren’t planning on making a move on my daughter,” Chris growls as he opens the freezer and pulls the ice cream out.

Stiles pauses at that, “Um—“

_Quick. Think of something to throw them all off._

“I’m sure, Allison is really nice and a sweet girl. But um, she’s not my type.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, “Are you saying she’s ugly?”

“What! No! Nononono! Oh my god, Uh no! That’s not—it’s just—holy fuck. _I’m gay!_ ” He blurts out in a lie—well, half lie since he’s technically half gay.

“Uh—“

“Oh god, oh shoot. Don’t tell my dad!” Stiles keeps going, feeling like a headless chicken, Victoria and Peter have entered the kitchen when they heard the commotion going on. “If he finds out I’m gay he might actually kick me out of the house, I don’t even know how to come out to him or if he’s even okay with gay people!”

He bites at his nails and makes it look like he’s on the verge of having a meltdown.

“Mr. Argent, please don’t tell my dad. I don’t want him to hate me. What-what if he kicks me out or tells me I’m a disgusting freak?!”

“Woah! Hey, kiddo, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Chris says, unsure how to deal with the crying teenager in his kitchen.

He glances at Peter and Victoria who both looked miffed.

"Stiles," Peter goes over to him and pulls him into a half-hug as he glares at Chris. "What did you _do_?"

"I-I," Chris looks vaguely terrified as he stares between Peter, Victoria and where Stiles is pretending to panic and almost cry against Peter's chest. "Here's the ice-cream?"

Stiles sniffs and pretends to wipe his eyes as he reaches out for the ice-cream, "Thanks Mr Argent," he makes sure to look worried, "you won't say anything to my dad, will you?"

"No, no, of course not," Chris says quickly, hoping to not to set off the teen again.

"Thank you," Stiles hugs Peter quickly. "I'm fine, Peter, it's okay. Mr Argent was just worried about Allison."

"Well, I'm worried about you," Peter presses a kiss against Stiles' forehead before letting Stiles go while ignoring the disgusted scoff from Victoria.

"Isn't he a bit too young for you, or are you trying to get into the Sheriff's bed through his son?" Victoria asks snidely making Stiles stiffen as he turns to her.

"Seriously, what the _fuck_ is wrong with?" Stiles demands as he holds the ice-cream loosely.

“Did you seriously just accuse my fucking uncle that he’s sleeping with me? A minor? Even though my dad’s the fucking sheriff?” Stiles feels like a rabid animal tearing at this woman’s throat.

How _dare_ she fucking assume the relationship he has with Peter? That’s between the both of them, and is none of her fucking upturned nose business.

“If I ever hear you make a comment about Peter ever again, I’ll tip my father about the illegal window tints you have on your cars. And maybe a few other things, I haven’t decided yet,” Stiles snarls, opening the drawer with the spoons to grab two of them and then slamming it shut.

“Stiles?” He hears Allison as she stands at the top of the banister.

“Coming! Just had to find where the spoons were at,” Stiles says cheerily, a whiplash to how he was acting earlier. “Peter, I’m going to stay with Allison for a little bit longer and probably spend two hours watching Buffy. You can go home if you want. I already texted my dad where I was at.”

"I'd rather wait around if that's alright," Peter says as he squeezes Stiles' shoulder. "I'm not overly trusting of our dear hosts, however I'll sit in the car and listen to some music."

"You sure?" Stiles asks with some worry, and Peter smiles at him.

"Go and have fun," Peter encourages him, and Stiles gives one last glance towards Mrs Argent, but heads off back upstairs as Allison calls again, and Peter turns a cold look on Mrs Argent. "Never suggest I would sleep with a minor again, as I recall, it's not _my_ family that has a history of seducing minors."

Chris winces at the dig he believes is directed at him.

"I'll let myself out," Peter informs them. "I'd rather not deal with a knife to my back."

Peter inclines his head and leaves the house with crumbling composure, but he keeps it together enough to get in his car and lock the doors before he grips the wheel and lets out a shaky breath as he tries not remember.

It’s almost like he can feel the harsh breathing against his neck again, those hands wrapping around his throat, _squeezing_ until he’s passing out. Peter digs his claws into his shoulders, dragging them against his skin until he feels the burn of pain.

“He’s dead. He’s dead. I swear he’s dead,” Peter tells himself, trying to calm himself down so he doesn’t wolf out in front of the house of a bunch of hunters. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I have my pup, Derek is safe. He’s mine now.”

* * *

Stiles makes his way back upstairs, kicking off his shoes and setting Derek’s jacket down where he’s sitting on Allison’s bed.

She gives him a smile before starting up the first episode to Buffy, and Stiles starts to dig into the ice cream.

But even with one of his favorite shows playing in the background, Stiles’ mind is still reeling at Victoria’s words. How could she say such cruel things to Peter?

He knew the Hale’s and Argent’s had the worst family feud going on, but the way Victoria spoke, it was with such backhanded cruelty, he didn’t know how Peter was able to stay so calm during the whole thing.

If she had been speaking to Stiles like that, he’s positive he would have turned around and snapped at her, not caring who was watching as he chewed her out.

Stiles sucks on the spoon as he stares at the screen and he can't help, but think of what Victoria said and what it implied.

Stiles dipped his spoon back into the ice-cream, briefly duelling Allison's spoon, and his next scoop of ice-cream tastes of victory.

 _So, Peter and Chris had a thing in the past_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he sucks on the spoon. _And Victoria is still bitter over it? But why? Wouldn't it have been over before they were married? Unless it wasn't? Chris and Peter had an affair?_

Stiles thinks to himself, tapping the spoon against his lips, and he doesn't see Peter agreeing to be the bit of stuff on the side. But then again, he didn't see what Chris had seen in Victoria.

Stiles scoops up his third scoop and savouring it as he thinks with narrowed eyes directed towards the screen.

 _Why would Chris marry Victoria if he was with Peter?_ Stiles wonders as he almost chews on his spoon. _Unless he had no choice? The Argent's don't seem to be any accepting family, and the heir of the family having a gay relationship with a werewolf, yeah, that doesn't seem like something the people that produced a child-rapist and family murderer, and approve of the cold-hearted bitch that is Victoria being brought into the family wouldn't let go. So, yeah, they probably forced Victoria on him._

 _Well, shit_ , Stiles glances at Allison and decides he wouldn't be the one to tell Allison that she's the product of a probably arranged marriage.

* * *

Allison ends up falling asleep after the fourth episode, and Stiles is close to passing out himself, but he pulls himself together before he falls asleep on her bed and making things worse.

Pulling on Derek’s jacket, Stiles dumps the empty ice cream container into Allison’s trash can before leaving her room.

He creeps down the stairs, wanting to be as quiet as he can so he can put the spoons in the sink and then turns around to leave, only to freeze when he sees Chris standing in the doorway and staring at him with those steel blue eyes.

“Stiles.”

“Mr. Argent,” Stiles says like a mouse ready to run.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable early, to the point you outed yourself,” Chris says, his eyes going a little softer as he approaches Stiles.

“It’s okay—it happens—“

“No, it’s not okay. Being gay—it’s hard. You’re never sure if you’re safe around certain people and sometimes when you think you’re telling the right friend they turn their backs on you,” Chris explains, he turns his head away as if he’s remembering something. “You should never be afraid to tell the people you love, but also know if they don’t accept you for who you are then they never loved you in the first place.”

"Yeah, I'm kind of learning that," Stiles says slightly bitterly, biting his lip because he hadn't meant to say that and definitely not to Mr Argent.

There's something sympathetic to Mr Argent's face that makes him feel uncomfortable, and he looks away, "I should go, Peter's probably bored out of his skull."

"Yeah," something almost fond on Mr Argent's face as he agrees. "Goodnight, Stiles."

"Goodnight, Mr Argent," Stiles says as the older man walks him to the door.

Stiles hurries towards Peter's car and to the passenger's door as Peter pops open the locks, and Stiles slips in.

"Have fun with your friend?" Peter says quietly as he starts the car.

"Yeah," Stiles says as he watches Peter, and he bites at his thumb.

 _Mr Argent is probably gay, he confided in the wrong person, and is now trapped in a loveless marriage_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he chews on his nail. _Well, shit, now I'm almost feeling sorry for him._

"What's wrong?" Peter asks as he glances over.

"I think Chris gave me it's okay to be gay talk," Stiles says after a moment.

"Huh," Peter says with some interest. "Well, I can still give you it's okay to be bi talk later then."

"I'm having more than one talk?" Stiles asks with some amusement.

"Of course," Peter says, and he glances over at Stiles. "My talk will be much better."

"Of course, Alpha," Stiles agrees easily as he slumps in his seat. "I'm going to crash when we get home, okay?"

Peter reaches out and strokes a hand over Stiles' hair, "Of course, pup."

* * *

Stiles ends up falling asleep halfway on the drive back home, which makes Peter smile.

He carries his Beta back upstairs to the apartment where Derek is still on the couch looking at college classes.

He glances up and feels his shoulders relax when he sees Peter and Stiles back home and safe.

“I’m guessing it’s time for bed?”

“Yup. Our little Beta is all tuckered out from dealing with teenage girl break ups and the Argent’s,” Peter says as he carries Stiles over to his room and lays him on the bed.

“What did the Argent’s do?” Derek flashes his eyes and has to hold himself back, so his fangs don’t pop out.

“They said more than a few unsavoury things, well, mostly Victoria did. But I wouldn’t have put it past her to pull a gun out and shoot me on sight,” Peter smirks, “I guess she still remembers I had Chris’s heart before she did.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at that but chooses not to ask any more than that, seeing how exhausted Peter already looks.

“Come on, mom. Let’s go to bed,” Derek smiles, taking his shirt off and removing his jacket from Stiles’ body to hang it up.

When both of his pups are curled around one another, Peter shifts into his Alpha form and curls up around them, nosing at Stiles’ hair and then Derek’s before letting himself sleep.

* * *

Stiles wakes up with his face buried into Derek's neck, more than half-way on the older teen, and his hips still in the middle of rutting against Derek.

Stiles freezes, his cock throbbing and trapped in his jeans that it seems he slept in, and tries to inch away from the unfairly sexy body under him and trapping himself against said sexy body with a heavy arm thrown other him, and he stares at Derek's throat as Derek breathes easy and deep with sleep.

He needs to move, he so needs to move, because his hips are actually trembling with the need to keep rutting against the warm body under him, and he bites his bottom lip as he tries to move, but Derek's arm just tightens and pulls him closer.

" _Oh god_ ," Stiles whimpers as his trapped cock rubs against Derek's body.

"You seem to be having some trouble there," Peter says from the doorway and with amusement dripping from his words.

"Peter, please for the love of everything you hold holy," Stiles hisses quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping wolf under him. "Get me out of this before I really embarrass myself and cross a line I shouldn't."

“I don’t know, this is quiet fun to watch. Ah, I do remember the fun days of being a horny teenage boy,” The older wolf smirks.

“Fuck you, and come help me before I kill myself from embarrassment,” Stiles hisses as quietly as he can.

Peter chuckles as he comes over and helps Stiles out, immediately Stiles grabs some clothes and makes his way to the bathroom so he can die in peace. The older man cackling quietly to himself as Stiles shuts the bathroom door.

“I’ll play some music to block out the noises you make,” Peter winks.

“I’m not that loud!”

“Ah, I too remember thinking that,” Peter points at his ears, “Werewolf hearing.”

Cheeks burning red, Stiles closes the door to the bathroom before starting the shower.

Not wanting to take any chances, he pulls his phone out and blast some random playlist on medium volume before getting into the shower.

He tries to spray himself down with cold water, wants to ignoring the raging boner between his legs. But it’s no use and he finds himself biting his lips as he starts to jerk off. He tries, he tries really hard or to think about Derek but it’s worthless.

His brain immediately jumps to thoughts and images of Derek. Derek half naked, Derek naked and cuddling against him. He wants that, god does he want that so badly.

Stiles leans a shoulder against the tiles and presses an arm against the wall in the prefect place to muffle his noise as he lets him imagination run.

He thinks back to when Derek had caged him against the bed, remembers the way the older man's gaze dropped down to his lips and how he seemed to move closer before Peter interrupted.

He lets himself think of Derek caging him against the bed again, and Stiles licks his lips as he imagines Derek's gaze dropping down to them and going dark with lust.

No interruptions, just them, and Derek finally leaning down to kiss Stiles, and Stiles keeps his eyes closed as he thinks about how Derek's lips would feel against his while keeping his strokes over his cock slow, so he can truly savour these thoughts.

 _They look soft_ , Stiles thinks as he imagines Derek's lips, the feel of them against his own.

Soft lips, but firm intent behind them, Stiles imagines. He thinks Derek would take control of the kiss, a hand coming up to cup his jaw while the other keeps Derek balanced over him.

Stiles knows himself, he'd throw himself enthusiastically into the kiss, arms coming up to loop around Derek's neck as he kisses back and probably try to deep the kiss quickly.

Would Derek let him? Or would he nip at his lips in punishment and slow the kiss until Derek decides he wants to deepen it?

Suddenly his fantasy changes without his permission, and it's _Derek_ under _Stiles_. It's _Derek_ that looks slightly nervous but eager, it's Stiles that leans down and kiss him first, pressing his lips against those soft lips and having Derek almost whimper as he throws himself into the kiss.

It's _Stiles_ lowering himself on _Derek_ , pressing against Derek's firm body and fitting perfectly in between Derek's spread legs, it's _Derek_ holding him almost desperately as Stiles kisses him, as _Stiles_ keeps control of the kiss and cupping Derek's jaw, feeling the prickle of scruff under his hand.

“You’re so good, Der,” he’d say to the older man, stroking a hand over his cheeks and kissing over the scruff. “So good for me.”

He just wants to _worship_ the man that is known as Derek Hale, wants to make him feel good and happy, whether that’s by kissing him all over, sloppy blow jobs, or fucking the man and vice versa. He wants Derek to be happy, wants to see the man smile without it being fake or caged.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles bites out into his hand as he fucks his hand harder.

He bites down a little harder when he cums all over his hand.

Breathing heavily, Stiles leans against the tile walls as he catches his breath, making a face when he sees the cum on his hands, huffing, he washes it off before grabbing the soap and starting to actually clean himself.

He just really hoped that he uses enough soap to wash out the scent of his cum, he _does not_ want to have that conversation with either of the Hale’s.

Although, he’s pretty sure Peter is going to make a comment or two. He seems like the type to do so, and Stiles will die of embarrassment all over, he’s going to find a nice hole to die in.

“Fucking werewolves,” he mutter under his breath, hoping Peter didn’t catch that as he starts to towel off.

He looks at the clothes he had grabbed in his mad panic; black jeans not as fitted as the skinny jeans that he wore yesterday without the knowledge it left so _little_ to the imagination and a dark green fitted t-shirt.

Stiles is pretty sure that Peter has gotten rid of all his old clothes that he brought over, and should probably content himself that the older man hadn't yet been convinced to replace his underwear because he wouldn't be pleased if Peter got rid of his Batman boxers.

Sure, they were a little thin, but that just proves how much Stiles loved them, Stiles thinks as he pulls said Batman boxers on before grabbing the jeans and thinking longingly of far more baggy and comfortable jeans he was used to before putting them on, slipping on his Batman socks—thankful that Peter hadn't said anything against his _socks_ in his war against the rest of Stiles' wardrobe—and turns to the mirror and wiping off the fogginess with a towel so he can take himself in as he brushes his teeth.

He wipes his mouth after he's done and peers in the mirror before pulling his mother's necklace out from under the t-shirt so the silver Triskelion charm winks in the light.

Stiles gives a slightly nod of approval before flashing finger-guns at the mirror and bundling up his towels and dirty clothes to throw in the hamper before leaving the bathroom with a spring in his step that almost immediately falters as he meets Derek's gaze.

Sometime between Stiles getting out of the bed and shutting him into Peter's bathroom, Derek had obviously woken up and sat up in bed.

Any hopes that Derek hadn't heard almost immediately bursts as Derek ducks his head almost awkwardly and with some redness to his ears.

Stiles gives a strangled noise as his face flushes brightly.

"I-I'm going to go and have breakfast," Stiles manages to get out before he flees with whatever is left of his dignity.

Derek nods his head, not using his voice because he knows he’s gonna say something weird and make everything even more uncomfortable for the both of them.

Slouching only on himself, Derek covers his face with his hands before peering down at the hardon he’s sporting in his boxers.

Hearing Stiles shout his name as he jerked off was like a wet dream come true, but he felt sick to the stomach when he thought about the teenager like that.

He didn’t want to be _her_ , didn’t want to trick and seduce some poor boy into his bed and fill him with hope.

Stiles deserved better than him, but for some ungodly reason the world decided that they should be mates.

_Mates!_

Derek and Stiles? As mates!! No!

Stiles deserved someone who could give him what he wanted and needed, could give him that unconditional love and affection Derek couldn’t.

But Derek wasn’t a good person, as much as he knew he should let Stiles go, let him find someone and be happy with them. He just _couldn’t_ let the teenager go, it went against his instincts to let his mate be with someone else.

But Derek was a sickness, he was damaged goods and a used toy that got its leg snapped off. He was going to corrupt Stiles somehow, he was going to hurt him.

Whether it was like what happened to him or what happened to Peter he wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t let that happen. He’d tear off his own hands before hurting Stiles.

He rubs his hands roughly over his face and ignores his hardon with a surge of self-disgust as he gets out of bed, and grabs some fresh clothes.

He ignores Peter's bathroom for his own sanity, knowing he wouldn't be able to control himself in he stepped inside somewhere where the scent of Stiles' lust and cum is so strong, and moves to the main bathroom with quick strides.

He knows himself, if he stepped foot in the same shower where Stiles jerked off—jerked off to thoughts of _him_ , Derek remembers as his wolf preens smugly—then he'll break, he'll take his cock in hand and bring himself off with the thoughts of Stiles and he can't do that.

Because Derek's greedy, because he's never satisfied with just thoughts, no, he'll prove himself just like _her_ or _his father,_ and he'll push and take until he ruins Stiles, until he leaves Stiles broken and shaking in fear and self-disgust, and—and..

Derek slides down the bathroom door with a ragged gasp and buries his face into his hands with a whine.

He can't do this, he can't, he's going to hurt Stiles, going to hurt him like _she_ hurt him or like _his father_ hurt _his mom_. He's going to become a ghost that Stiles can't ever run from, and he'll be worse than _them_ because Stiles is _his_ mate and he'll never let him go because he's greedy and a monster, and—and...

A knock to the door breaks him from his spiralling thought.

"Derek?" his mom's voice comes through the door, worried, and Derek sobs as he scrambles to open the door and then there Peter is, _his mom_ , and Derek almost collapses against him and holds him tightly as he trembles and gasps into Peter's neck. "Oh, pup, what happened?"

Peter's hand cups the back of his neck and pulls him close, pressing his lips against the side of his head as he lets Derek shake and give gasping sobs against him for a moment.

“I’m going to _hurt_ him. I’m going to hurt him like dad hurt you,” Derek admits, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Shaking his head, Peter closes the bathroom door, so Stiles doesn’t walk in on this. It’s a fragile moment for Derek, and if his mate saw him now it might do something even worse.

Shushing his son, Peter helps him down until they’re seated on the floor of the bathroom. He runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, and shushes the sobs coming out of his pups throat.

“No, no, you would never do anything like that, Derek. You don’t have an evil bone inside of you,” Peter tells him.

“But what if I do? What if Kate fucked me up so badly, and I am—I’m just like dad. I don’t—I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt Stiles like that.”

Peter cups Derek’s face in his hands, “Tell me, would you ever want to hurt Stiles?”

Derek shakes his head.

“Would you force yourself on him? If he gave you the slightest sign of interest, would you do it?”

“N-no!” Derek flinches at even the implication of doing something like that.

“See? You’re nothing like your father. I promise, you’re not broken, Der. And you’re not evil,” Peter presses a motherly kiss to Derek’s forehead, “You’re my sweet pup. You’re too good for this world, and even after all the shit you’ve been through you’re still trying your best.”

"But—but I _want_ him," Derek confesses as if that negates everything Peter said, and Peter wants to rip Kate Argent to bits, wants to piss on Talia's grave after ranting at her for all the shit she put _his pup_ through because they are the women that taught his son that it's wrong for him to want things, to want people.

"And that's normal," Peter tells him as he strokes Derek's cheek. "He's your mate, it's natural that you want him. That you want him close all the time, that you want him to smell of you, that you want to hold him tight and yes, it's perfectly normal to want him sexually. But there's a big difference between wanting someone and forcing your wants on them."

Peter presses another kiss to Derek's forehead as Derek looks at him somewhat confused, wishing again that he had grabbed Derek and ran, followed one of the plans Claudia laid out for them, but he had been too much of coward to take.

"You don't want to force yourself on him, you don't want to hurt him, and you want to get better for both yourself and him," Peter reminds him. "None of that is the sign of a monster like _her_ or your father. They didn't care, Derek, and you do, you care so much that it hurts.

You'll never hurt Stiles in that way, could you hurt him in other ways? Yes, but even when you love someone with all your heart, you can end up hurting them by mistake and what you need to do is apologise and work to make sure it never happens again.

Stiles will probably hurt you by accident, through a thoughtless remark or something like that, he'll get frustrated and mad, and you'll argue and say things you don’t mean, but as long as you apologise and work through it? Then I know you'll both be alright," Peter pulls Derek close, lets his son rest his head against chest and over his heart, enforcing the truth of his words. "You're my sweet and kind pup, my loving pup, and wanting someone doesn't mean you'll hurt them, Der."

Nodding his head, Derek let’s his mother’s words settle something inside of him.

He’s still too afraid that he will never know the difference between wanting someone and forcing someone, Kate made sure to fuck everything inside his brain, and he’s sure Peter knows that, but Peter also thinks he’s good and can learn to better himself.

And Derek really does. He wants to be good for Stiles, wants to show him they can be together.

“I’ll make some calls today, see about find us a therapist. How does that sound, pup?” Peters keeps petting Derek’s hair in a soothing manner.

“Yes. I-I’d like that,” Derek responds.

They sit there for a while longer before Derek can finally get up and face the day.

Peter gives him another bone crushing hug, before leaving Derek to finish in the shower.

* * *

Walking into the kitchen, he finds Stiles already has his nose in a book and a piece of toast sticking out of his mouth as he focuses on the words before him.

“If you don’t finish up eating now, you’ll be starving before lunch comes around,.” Peter tells the boy, catching his attention and pulling Stiles out of his fixation.

“Huh?” Stiles glances at the clock, “Oh shit, I need to eat really quickly.”

"Don't choke," Peter tells him as he moves to make sure Stiles' lunch was in his bag and he grabs the new denim jacket with faux-fur lining and collar that he bought Stiles and places it over Stiles' backpack. "Why don't you wear this jacket today?"

Stiles glances over from where he's wolfing down breakfast and makes a sound of agreement.

"Well, at least you know not to talk with your mouth full," Peter says with a faked sigh, smiling as Stiles makes a face at him. "But really, don't choke. I would hate to tell your father that you died on my beautifully cooked breakfast."

"I see where your concern truly lies," Stiles says after swallowing, and Peter snickers as he moves over to make up a plate for Derek, putting it in the oven to warm it slightly. "Is Derek not joining us?"

"Derek isn't used to sleeping in, I believe," Peter says as he begins to clean up the pots and pans. "Also, you aren't as late as you believe, I can get you there in plenty of time."

"Without speeding?" Stiles asks sceptically, and Peter gives a dramatic gasp.

"What do you think of your darling Alpha?" Peter says in that dramatic tone of his. "To believe he'd break the law in such way. I am hurt, hurt and offended."

Stiles snorts as he reaches out for his juice, "Yeah, I can see that."

Peter gives him a smirk at the dry tone Stiles takes, and Derek enters the kitchen while still drying his hair with his towel.

"Your breakfast is in the oven, pup," Peter tells him.

"Thanks, Mom," Derek says as he moves to grab it, and it seems to finally click in Stiles' head what Derek told him last night as he chokes on his orange juice.

"Wait!" Stiles almost wheezes as he hits his chest. "Does this mean that Derek's an _ass baby_?"

Derek spins around to gape at Stiles in disbelief, and Peter has to brace himself against the sink as he snorts with laughter.

“You don’t freak out by the fact he’s my mom, but you freak out because I’m an _ass baby_?”

Stiles raises his arms in a shrugging motion, “What? I’ve read fanfiction. Male pregnancy is the least weirdest thing for me to think about.”

Peter howls with laughter at that statement, almost falling over if it weren’t for Derek standing next to him and being used as a pole.

“Oh—oh my god, that is hilarious! Ah, just what I need this morning a little pick me up,” Peter wipes away the tears that came from laughing so hard. “Yes, Derek is technically an ass baby. You’d be surprised how elastic the asshole is when it comes to giant babies.”

Stiles gives the man a look of scientific interest which has Derek glaring, “No, we are not discussing the tales about my birth.”

“You’re right,” Peter nods empathetically, before adding amusing wickedly, “It’s much more fun to show him all the baby pictures I was able to save before the fire.”

“Oh no,” Derek says.

“Oh, yes!” Stiles yells.

“He was such a cute baby, you should have seen him when his fangs started growing in,” Peter sighs at the memory, even though Derek had still thought of Talia as his mom.

His pup still came to him when his mouth was aching from the fangs pushing through his gums. Peter would get him some ice to chew on or take him out for ice cream, not caring if Talia would hit him or yell at him later on, his pup was hurting, and he couldn’t turn him away.

"Mom!" Derek looks at Peter with an embarrassed blush on his face, turning his face away from Stiles, so he wouldn't see Derek's embarrassed expression.

"You mean his baby werewolf fangs?" Stiles gives an almost cooing expression, and Peter nods, and Derek scowls at them with red cheeks as he grabs his breakfast and grumpily sits. "Aww, that's so _cute_."

"I'm _not_ cute," Derek mutters darkly, stabbing at his breakfast with a scowl.

"He is, isn't he?" Peter says with such a mom expression on his face that Stiles is ashamed that he didn't realise before Derek said something. "You should see the photos I have him as toddler, he had _such_ chubby cheeks."

"Were they pinchable?" Stiles says with a teasing grin as Derek slumps in his chair, and Peter smirks as he nods.

"The most pinchable cheeks," Peter confirms teasingly.

"I hate the both of you," Derek tells them. "So much hate."

Peter comes cover and wraps an arm around Derek's shoulder, pulling him against his side and pressing a kiss to Derek's damp hair, "I love you too, my sweet pup."

Derek flushes harder as he leans into Peter's side, almost shyly glancing up at Stiles as if waiting for Stiles to tease him.

But Stiles would never tease him about this, about having his mom and enjoying the affection his mom can bestow upon him.

Moms were sacred, moms were never to messed with or mocked about in Stiles' opinion, so Stiles just gives Derek a soft smile that seems to make Derek flush harder while also making the werewolf sit a bit straighter.

"Do you want to stay here while I drop Stiles off?" Peter asks as he lets go of Derek after one last squeeze. "I want to look into the Vault and maybe bring some stuff back, if you'd rather stay home while I do that..?"

"No," Derek shakes his head as he begins to eat his breakfast. "I'll go with you."

“Finish up your food, that goes for both of you,” Peter makes sure to point at them both, earning a smile from Stiles.

“Yes, oh great Alpha,” Stiles says in a mocking voice of some court jester.

Derek snorts and digs into the hot bowl of scrambled eggs and sausages, with a free vegetables.

* * *

Peter waits for them both patiently to finish up, Derek leaving to grab his leather jacket and frowns when he sees Stiles pulling on the denim one.

He wants his mate to smell like him, but seeing Stiles in the jacket makes his cheeks burn at the thought of _Derek_ wearing that jacket, wearing his mate’s scent.

Wetting his lips, he puts his leather jacket and waits at the door for the other two to join him.

Before Stiles can try to sneak one of the books Peter gave him into his book bag, the older man is snatching it out of his hands and giving him a look.

“Aw, come on. _Please?_ ” Stiles claps his hands as he begs for the book.

“No, school is more important than magic at the moment. You need to keep your grades up, I won’t have you failing. Your father would shoot me, and healing from a bullet wound hurts more than you think it would,” Peter tells him as he sets the book back on the table.

“ _Fine_ ,” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and walks to the door, nudging at Derek’s arms so he can loop his arm around the man and hug him.

Derek freezes for a moment at how easy it is for Stiles to give him such simple contact, but after a while he goes along with it and is wrapping his arms around Stiles’ body to give him a hug.

“You’re going to be late if you keep hugging,” Peter teases them both, swirling his keys around his finger as he watches the two of them.

"Enough scent-marking, Der?" Stiles pulls back and asks him, and Derek bites his lip before rubbing a hand over Stiles' throat before stepping back and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Okay, we're ready."

"Let's go, pups, a brand new day awaits us all," Peter says sarcastically as he herds them towards the door.

"You sound so enthused," Stiles smirks at Peter as they leave the apartment and Pete smirks back.

"I know, right?" Peter says as turns back to lock the door. "I can hardly restrain myself from jumping with joy to see what has been stored in the family Vault hidden under the school."

"Really? Under the _high school_?" Stiles asks in disbelief as they head towards the elevator.

"It was built before there was a high school there," Peter explains. "Though I will admit that it's a rather odd place to keep it."

He'd rather build a new vault somewhere else, the location kept in the Pack and away from Deaton's grubby hands.

 _Wait, I’m the Alpha_ , Peter realizes as he starts the car.

He’s the Hale Alpha now, meaning if he wanted to he could change where the Hale vault was kept, somewhere safe and away from normal people who could possibly stumble upon its opening, rubbing at his chin deep in thought, Peter ignores the look Derek gives him as they drive to the school, Stiles chatter in the back about classes and that sort.

Derek turns his attention back to Stiles, his lips twitching as he hears the teenager go on a rant about the oddest things, but doesn’t interrupt because he enjoys the sound of Stiles’ voice.

* * *

When they park at the front of the school again, Stiles blushes when he sees everyone watching as he gets out of the Mustang. He glances around and grins when he spots Allison waving at him from where she’s standing at the front doors to the school.

Waving back, Stiles turns to look say through the window, “I’ll see you guys after school. Bye Peter! Bye Derek!”

“Be safe!” Peter falls after him, frowning when he spots Stiles going over to hug Alison. “If that girl hurts him in anyway, I will make sure the Argent’s _weep_ for her death. They’ll have to spend years picking up every piece and shred of her body when I’m done with her.”

Derek grunts in agreement, eyeing the teenagers who are watching _his_ Stiles across the school yard.

His eyes narrow as he watches the ones called Lydia and Jackson head over to Stiles and pull him between them, Lydia linking their arms while Jackson wraps an arm around Stiles' shoulders and pulling him close.

"Jealousy really doesn't suit you, pup," Peter says as he pulls around to the side of the school and away from the curious eyes of the students.

"I'm not jealous," Derek huffs, and Peter's lips twitch.

"Of course not," Peter says with amusement as he parks the car. "Let's go."

Derek grumbles as he gets out of the car at the same time as Peter, Peter locking the car behind them and leading Derek to the side-entrance to the school—he'd rather keep away from the curious students.

Yes, keeping the Vault under a high school was just problematic, the amount of people that could witness them entering the vault was staggering, and it was only luck that no work had been done in the last six years and the vault hadn't been discovered.

They use their senses to avoid the crowd of students heading to their first classes and head towards the basement, and to the second entrance to the vault.

Peter makes a face at the horrible smell of dust and mould when the vault door opens up, he clicks on the lights-having to turn them on and off a few times before they finally turn on, and then makes his way into the large room, glancing around to see if anything was taken.

He hums when he sees everything is still the same since the last time he was in there, and goes over to where he knows most of the magical books are kept.

Derek glances around the room, feeling the unwelcoming atmosphere around him as he steps further into the dimly lit room.

His eyes trail over some of the bookshelves, before his eyes catch sight of a large journal sitting on a table. The book is spread open with a handmade bookmark keeping the pages marked for when whoever was reading it comes back.

Walking over, Derek glances at the pages before turning to the next. He realizes then he’s reading a records book of all the Hale’s that were born and to which parents belong to which child.

Turning the pages to the last one, Derek freezes when he sees the most recent of Hale’s, his eyes track down the family tree and pause when he sees his name.

_Derek Hale, bastard child of Peter Hale and Robert Hale. Blue eyes, dark hair._

Derek swallows thickly as he stares down at the words, and it takes him a moment to realise he _knows_ the handwriting.

It's Talia's, the woman he thought of his mother for most of his life, and she's crudely written down what she really thought of him.

He tears his gaze away, not wanting to worry his mom with his emotions, and frowns when he notices his name isn't the only name attached to Peter's.

_Jackson Whittemore, bastard child of Peter Hale and Margaret Miller, adopted by David Whittemore and Celeste Whittemore. Blue eyes, dark blonde hair._

_Malia Tate, bastard child of Peter Hale and Corrine, adopted by Evelyn Tate and Henry Tate. Brown eyes, dark hair._

"Mom?" Derek calls almost numbly, unable to tear his gaze away from the names of his siblings.

"Derek?" Peter looks away from the stack of books he's collecting in a box, and towards where Derek's standing, frozen, and a complicated look on his face. "What's wrong?"

Peter walks over, more focused on his son than whatever he's reading, and placing a hand on Derek's shoulder, "What's wrong?"

Derek looks at him, his chest clenching a little when he sees the worry on Peter’s face before looking back down to the paper and pointing at it.

“Look. What—you—what does this mean?” Derek shakes a little.

Glancing down at the pages, Peter reads it, and then reads it again.

He reads it so many times until each and every word is branded into his mind.

“I...I don’t remember this,” he says honestly.

Derek’s head whips around at him, “What do you mean? You don’t remember having two other kids?”

“I—“ Peter raises his hand and sets it on the back of his neck, feeling the phantom pain of claws digging into his neck, ears ringing as Talia’s words come back to haunt him.

_”He’s too unstable. He doesn’t deserve these children, I’ll make sure he doesn’t remember **anything.** ”_

He chokes, and his knees wobble a little as he can no longer hold himself up anymore, Derek catches him easily, and helps him to the ground.

“Mom?”

“She took them. Just like she took you.”

"Mom?" Derek's voice is distant, like it's coming underwater as Peter pops his claws and digs them into the back of his neck, trying to unlock what Talia's _taken_. "Mom! Mom! Stop! You're hurting yourself!"

Where are they? Where had Talia hidden them? _Where?_

_"Again, Peter? Why can't you stay the fuck away from other people's marriages?"_

_"Don't compare what **Robert** did to **me** to what I have with Maggie."_

_"Still proclaiming your innocence of everything? Grow up, Peter, and accept what you have done."_

_"Talia, please, I don't care what you think of me, but she's pregnant with **my** pup. Please, I'm begging you, you already took Derek, don't take this one too."_

_"No."_

_He's on his stomach **again** , Robert is there and pining him in place **again** , and Talia there, claws in the back of his neck, and he screams and bucks, and then Maggie's gone from his memory like he's never met her._

_"Again?" Talia's voice sounds tired._

_"What should we do this time?" Deaton asks, calm and steady like always._

_"He's too unstable. He doesn't deserve these children, I'll make sure he doesn't remember **anything.** "_

Peter howls and tears his claws from his own neck, panting as tears run down his face.

“Mom! _Mom!_ ” Derek screams, yanking Peter’s hands away from his neck.

“She took them. She fucking took them!” Peter howls, his eyes burning red as he claws at his own skin. “I couldn’t protect them—they were **mine** and she took my pups!”

“Mom, please, you’re scaring me,” Derek cries, wrapping Peter’s hands around him so he can’t hurt himself anymore and rocking them until Peter calms down a little.

“You’ve still got me, mom. You’ve got one of your pups. I’m here. I’m safe,” Derek murmurs against the back of Peter’s neck.

“My pups...my pups....I-I barren. I’m broken. I can never—” Peter chokes on the words, remembering being held down as Deaton inject him with something to destroy the womb inside of him.

He could never have another child, there’s never going to be a possibility of that anymore.

He remembers Talia watching, calmly, as Peter thrashes and screams as Deaton destroys the part of him that brought him his pup.

He remembers later, _Robert_ mourning that he'll not see Peter swell with his child again, but at least he'll not have to stop when Peter's too round for _him_ to put Peter on his stomach.

He screams into Derek's shoulder as Derek holds him, and he fists his hands in Derek's jacket.

_"Why?"_

_"Because you just can't keep away from him, can you? Always flaunting yourself at him, I won't put up with another bastard child from you."_

_"You could just have let me leave when I was pregnant."_

_"You're my Left Hand, I would not deal with the embarrassment of you leaving, pregnant with **my** husband's bastard."_

His pups were taken, his pups were stolen, and he's only been able to get one pup back, the only pup he had remembered, but he has two more out there, two more not knowing him.

“ _Mom_ ,” Derek soothes, running his fingers through Peter’s hair until the older man begins to calm down.

The trembling body resides to simple shakes every once in a while, and the sound of sniffling can be heard interrupting the silence.

“You would have had a brother and a sister if Talia hadn’t taken my memories from me,” Peter chokes on the words, clinging to the jacket he’d given to Derek when he was thirteen and hit his growth spurt.

“I...I have a brother and a sister? And they’re...”

“They’re alive! Talia didn’t kill them, she took them away and gave them to some _humans_ to live with. I need—I need to get my pups, I need all of them. I won’t rest until they’re safe,” Peter starts to sit up and almost falls over.

“Woah, woah, mom. Please, I just need you to stop and take a breath,” Derek holds his mother in his arms, ignoring the snarl his Alpha gives him.

“Let me go! I have to find them!” Peter growls, fighting Derek’s hold on him but he’s too weak from the emotional breakdown he just had.

“Mom, please, just—just breathe with me. I promise they’re okay,” Derek tells him, not letting go until Peter has finally calmed down.

Peter holds Derek close to him with a whine, wanting his other pups close, but contenting himself with his eldest pup.

"It's going to be okay, Mom," Derek soothes as he strokes Peter's back. "We'll find them both, okay?"

"Why couldn't she have just let us go? I would have kept away from Beacon Hills, I wouldn't have returned," Peter says almost to himself, holding Derek tighter. "I would have never mentioned I was a Hale."

Was the embarrassment of her Left Hand leaving the Pack so great that she refused? Or that was the excuse because she hated him too much to let him leave, she wanted him here and where she could punish him.

Why had she always blamed him? Why couldn't she see it was _Robert's_ fault? That Peter didn't want it, had never wanted it? Why did she choose _Robert_ over Peter? He was _her brother!_

Peter sobs as he remembers Talia's disgust, remembers Deaton's indifference, remember the Pack silence, and remembers Robert's eyes all over him, his hands later.

He wants his pups, all his pups, he wants Stiles and to be back in their den and safe.

Shamefully, he wants his mate, he wants _Chris_.

Derek shushes Peter, holding him close and tight against his chest until the sobs have pilfered off into little whimpers.

“It’s okay mom, we’ll get your pups. We’ll get them, and Stiles, and we’ll be the happiest Pack,” Derek says, unsure if he’s telling Peter or both of them. “We’re going to be the best pack. The happiest. Because I know you love each and every one of us.”

Nodding his head, Peter squeezes around Derek a little harder, and then pulls back to wipe away the tears.

“Thank you, Derek. I-I didn’t mean to get so emotional in front of you, I’m supposed to be your Alpha. I’m supposed to be strong for you.”

Derek takes Peter’s hands in his own and squeezes them, “But you’re also my mom. And you’ve always held that higher than being the Alpha.”

“You’re right,” Peter presses a kiss to the top of Derek’s head, “We shouldn’t be so down, you just found out you have a baby brother and sister.”

He smiles, trying to hide the pain at those words.

 _He_ should have been the one to raise Jackson and Malia, not _some humans_ who had no clue what they were getting into.

“Do you want to go home and rest? And when Stiles gets out of school we can have a pack pile?” Derek asks, trying to soothe his mother’s worry.

“That sounds nice,” Peter smiles, and then frowns. “If it weren’t for the fact Stiles is going to be studying at the Argent’s after school.”

Derek grimaces, he had forgotten about that.

"It's nice thought though," Peter strokes Derek's hair and presses another kiss to Derek's head. "We'll do that after Stiles is finished studying."

Derek nods as he holds Peter's hand, and glances up almost wearily at the record book, "What should we do with _that_?"

Derek doesn't know what feel about the records book. It hurt him, it hurt his mom, but it also told him that he still has two siblings, two baby siblings that he never knew about.

Peter thins his lips as he glances up at the book, "We take it with us."

Peter glances around the vault, filled with things that their family had deemed precious enough to be stored here, and sets him jaw with determination, "We take as much as possible with us, I don't want to come back here unless it's to empty it completely."

Derek glances around and judges how much they can fit in the car, "Okay, where are the boxes?"

Peter cups Derek's face and pulls him close to press a kiss to his forehead, "Thank you, pup."

"For what?" Derek frowns in confusion, and Peter strokes his thumbs over Derek's cheekbones.

"For being here, for being you," Peter tells him as Derek flushes slightly. "I don't know how I'd cope with _that_ if you weren't here."

“I’ll always be here for you, you’re my mom. And not only that, you were the last family member I had before finding out I have a brother and a sister,” Derek tells him shyly, admitting to them both that he craves that need for family—for Pack.

Traveling with Laura had been...distant, they could be sitting right next to one another and it would feel like they were miles apart.

Some of it had to do with how Derek couldn’t even speak about how the fire was his—no, it was Kate’s fault.

He didn’t want to tell her the truth and ruin everything between them, but now she’s gone, and he just has his mom.

And Stiles.

“Come on, this is going to be more than one trip. So we might as well start now,” Derek says as he brings them to their feet. “What should we start with?”

“The books, and then everything else. We’ll do it until every last piece of the Hale’s is gone from this place.”

Nodding his head, Derek squeezes Peter’s shoulder before giving him a smile and then walking over to the books to get started on the moving.

Smiling at his son, Peter takes a moment to breath before coming over to help his son with moving everything.

It’s going to take some time, but if he has to spend all day in this crypt destroying everything Talia worked on, he will.


	2. Chapter Two, "We're brothers now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of anything that may trigger you, there is talk of rape, flashbacks, drug use and break downs.

So far for the second day of Stiles' magical make-over from his furry snarky godfather? Still weird and filled with stares and whispers.

He made Allison erupt into a fit of giggles when he had questioned her closely on how noticeable his junk may appear to be, which hadn't been his goal, but worked out well as Scott had just come storming passed with a blistering glare directed at them.

The magical make-over is slightly tarnished by Scott being pissed at Stiles for reasons that may involve his sexuality and continued friendship with Allison.

His second day is made weirder with the combined forces of Lydia and Jackson doing their best to flirt with him and bring him into their relationship which makes Stiles both uncomfortably aroused and freaking out which isn't helped by Allison's teasing remarks.

Lunch is his saviour and yet is also his doom because there is no lesson to distract Lydia from convincing Stiles just how pretty it would be if Jackson was between them or finding a better use for Jackson's mouth.

He's also has been looking forward to lunch from this morning when he saw Peter put the bento-style box into his bag, and there's been many times he's been tempted to look into the box.

And Stiles totally would have, if he didn't know himself so well and know that he'd end up holed up somewhere to scoff it down which would leave him with no lunch for actual lunch.

Really, Stiles is proud of his self-restraint.

Both by not scoffing down his food and not making a complete embarrassment of himself due to arousal caused by Lydia and Jackson, and their filthy words that did not belong in a school and surrounded by such young and innocent minds.

* * *

“So what did Uncle Sexy pack for you today?” Allison laughs.

Stiles makes a face, “Please, _never_ call him that again. I think I almost threw up in my mouth.”

“I’m just kidding,” she teases, watching as Stiles pulls out his bento box and opens it up.

Inside is a delicious meal of homemade bread, grilled salmon and marinated shrimp salad, with a few slices of cheese and fruit on the side and a handful of homemade cookies.

“Jesus, what was he? A personal chief?” Jackson scowls at the food settled before Stiles, but even he’s looking at it with a hungry look.

“Nah, he’s just a mom kind of guy. You know, likes to bake and cook meals because he hates the stuff they make now a days, he’s very do it yourself. I’m pretty sure he has his own green house,” Stiles answers.

“That’s final, I need to meet this man. Not only did he give you a fashion make over but he’s also an amazing cook. I’m going to make him my personal chief one way or another,” Lydia says as if final, and Stiles snickers at the thought.

The great battle of wills between the fifteen-year-old goddess that is Lydia Martin and the thirty-something-year-old Alpha werewolf, a battle of the ages.

Stiles pauses in cutting up his salmon as a horrible thought strikes him.

Lydia and Peter recognising the budding evil genius in each other, and agree to work together.

"Yeah, you two can never meet," Stiles informs Lydia seriously. "Beacon Hills would fall under your command by the end of the day."

Lydia smiles brilliant as she reaches up to brush her fingers over the back of his neck, "You do realise that makes me more determined to meet him, right?"

"Yes," Stiles gives a sigh as Jackson throws a 'casual' arm over the back of his seat. "I regretted saying it, and only hope that my future overlord and overlady will be kind to me."

"I'll make sure you'll never have to leave our bed," Lydia promises kindly. "You and Jackson just have stay in bed, being pretty, and allowing me to enjoy watching you."

"And you're still on about that," Stiles coughs as he turns to his salmon, and Lydia leans close to him.

"Of course I am, I never give up anything I want easily," Lydia tells him before pressing a kiss to his cheek making Stiles flush deeply.

"No fair," Jackson complains before Stiles has another pair of lips on his other cheek. "Now we're even."

Allison is cackling evilly behind her Disney smile, Stiles knows from the twinkle in her eyes.

"So, whose house are we using for our Friday night movie marathon?" Allison asks brightly, obviously deciding to take mercy on Stiles.

“We can probably come over to mine, I think my dad might be working late, and the couches are nice and cushiony,” Stiles suggest, taking a bite of his salmon and moaning at the burst of flavor on his tongue.

“No way, you’re TV isn’t even that big. We’re coming over to mine,” Jackson argues.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “This isn’t a who has the bigger dick contest, I’m sure you can still watch The Notebook on my TV without going blind.”

“If it were a big dick contest, we all know Stiles would have won,” Lydia mentions, looking at her perfectly fine nails like she hadn’t just caused five people to choke on their food.

“No comment,” Stiles says, blushing furiously and trying to shove food into his mouth so he doesn’t say anything odd.

A few people give him an interesting glance before looking down at his pants, where Stiles covers his crotch because now he’s feeling a little embarrassed.

He should go home and strangle Peter, he was very happy with his baggy pants where _no one_ saw his junk.

"But I agree with Jackson," Lydia decides as she looks up from admiring her nails. "We're not doing it at your house. How are the three of us meant to fit on your bed in things go well?"

"Why Lydia Martin," Stiles dramatically gasps as he places one hand on his chest, trying to ignore his own blush. "I don't know what type of boy you think I am, but I _do not_ put out on the first date."

"I'm sure Jackson's mouth can convince you otherwise," Lydia leans back in her chair smugly. "He's really good with it."

Stiles chokes and sends a desperate glance at Allison, silently pleading for help, and mother of mercy, she does.

"We can do it at my house," Allison offers, and Stiles can't help the chill that goes down his spine at the idea of facing Victoria raging-bitch Argent again. "I mean, with your dad working, I suppose you’re staying over Peter's again? So, at least he knows where my house is and knows my parents."

"Yeah," Stiles' answering smile feels a bit thin and he hopes it's not as fake looking as he thinks it is. "He definitely knows your parents."

 _From when he was in a relationship with your dad, something your mother still has a big problem with_ , he finishes in his mind.

Allison frowns, and gives Stiles a sad look like she knows what he was just thinking about.

Sighing, Stiles hands her one of his cookies as a way to ask for peace and she happily takes it from him with a dimples smile.

Someone slaps their hands down on the table next to Stiles, startling him into dropping his cookie on the floor.

“Aw, man. I’m not even gonna pick that up, I know how dirty those floors are,” Stiles whines, staring down at his fallen cookie.

 _You will always be missed, homemade cookie. I hope the ants like you_ , Stiles thinks mournfully to himself.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jackson sneers, pulling Stiles’ attention from the cookie. “I thought you wouldn’t have wanted to be around a bunch of _sluts_.”

Somehow Stiles isn't surprised that Scott finally broke from his angry silence and looks to finally confront them.

"I need to talk with you," Scott growls, ignoring Jackson and staring at Stiles, and Stiles isn't the imagining the golden cast to Scott's brown-eyes.

 _Correction_ , Stiles thinks warily, _confront me._

"We're eating here," Lydia gives Scott an arched look. "Whatever you want to say can wait."

Scott growls, his eyes taken on more golden colour, and Stiles quickly stands up as he packs his lunch away.

"You know what? Yeah, yeah, let's talk," Stiles says hurriedly as he puts the bento-box in his backpack and throwing the bag over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

"No," Jackson throws an arm in front of Stiles and glares up at Scott, his teeth barring slightly. "I'm not letting you walk off with him."

"Jackson, it's fine," Stiles squeezes Jackson's shoulder as Scott scoffs and sneers at Jackson.

"Why do _you_ care?" Scott demands with a hint of a growl. "You hated Stiles until he changed his clothes to fit in with you lot! So desperate to be popular that he changes everything to blend in better, so he can pretend he's still not the looser you've hated for years."

"It was never _Stiles_ that I hated," Jackson scoffs back, vibrating with tension as he glares up at Scott.

“Oh? Then what was it about, huh? Because obviously you weren’t nice to him before any of this happened.”

“Listen McCall, I was friends with Stiles before you fucking showed up here with your little puppy dog smiles. We were best fucking friends and then you showed up and decided to manipulate him into only wanting to hang out with _you_ ,” Jackson sneers, “I never liked _you_ , notice how I only call Stiles by his first name. Unlike you, McCall.”

“Shut up, Jackson. You’re just a pathetic little rich boy who whines about daddy not giving you what you want.”

“Okay, enough,” Stiles stands up, “Scott, we can take this somewhere more privately, I’d rather not be the next high school drama TV show because you two can’t talk quietly.”

Scott snarls, and for a moment Stiles is afraid he’s going to shift in front of the whole school, but he just huffs and walks away, knowing Stiles is going to follow after him as they walk outside to the gym.

“Okay, what did you want to talk—WOAH! Dude what the fuck!” Stiles yells as Scott slams him up against a wall and flashes yellow eyes at him.

“Why do you smell like Allison? And why does Allison smell a little bit like Derek! What the hell are you doing with my girlfriend?” Scott roars at him.

"First, get the fuck off me," Stiles presses against Scott's chest.

"Not till you answer my questions!" Scott shakes him, pressing him further against the wall. "What are you doing with Allison?! She's my girlfriend!"

"She broke up with you!" Stiles shouts back, trying to push Scott off him. "I was comforting her! I was wearing Derek's jacket! Now get off me!"

Scott roars as he pulls Stiles back and then slams him against the wall, Stiles crying out as his head slams against the wall and all the air seems to be pushed out of his lungs as Scott presses an arm against his chest.

"Allison is _mine!_ " Scott snarls as his fangs descend. "And there's nothing you can do about it! You're always been jealous, haven't you? You couldn't cope with me finally being popular! Finally having a girlfriend! You just had to try and ruin everything!"

"S-Scott," Stiles gasps, black exploding in his vision. "Scott, you're hurting me."

"Shut up!"

Stiles chokes and wheezes as Scott pushes hard on his chest, he feels like something is about to break and his vision starts to go black and spotted. He makes a small noise as Scott growls up at him, and then suddenly the pressure is gone, and he can breathe.

“What the—“

“You must be _Scott_ ,” Peter gives the teenager an unhinged smile, “I’ve heard so much about you already.”

“You—you—you’re the one who—“

“Who gave you the Bite? Yes, I am. And I do apologize for taking that choice from you. Everyone should be given a choice about getting the Bite or not, and I took that from you.”

Scott makes a noise in confusion, before shouting when Peter’s face shifts and he flashes red eyes.

“But listen here _boy_ , werewolf or not, you put a hand on Stiles again and I will make you _wish_ you were already dead,” the Alpha snarls over him.

Scott flashes yellow eyes and curls up on himself, making a small whimper at the anger that radiates off the Alpha.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Derek kneels down next to him, and checks his pulse, tenderly gathering Stiles up in his arms.

“I’m—I’m okay. He didn’t mean to hurt me, it’s fine,” Stiles tells him.

"Oh, he meant it," Peter says darkly as he stands over his wayward and much unwanted Beta as Derek checks over Stiles' head.

Stiles hisses as Derek presses against a tender point and gives a groan as his head seems to blaze in pain, and Derek winces before pulling some of the pain making Stiles slump and look at him in some relieved confusion.

"W-what are you doing?" Stiles asks curiously as Derek checks his pupils with a frown.

"Taking some of your pain," Derek tells him shortly before holding a finger up. "Follow my finger."

"I don't have a concussion," Stiles protests as he follows Derek's finger. "I just hit my head."

"You mean he slammed you against the wall," Peter corrects as he stares down at the Beta. "I think Scott, you should run along before I change my mind about being kind."

Scott flash Peter a look before scrambling up and fleeing without a look back at Stiles, and Peter cracks his neck as he pulls the shift back.

"Any hits to the head can result in a concussion if there's enough force behind it," Derek scowls as he tells Stiles. "And having a werewolf slam a human against a wall definitely has enough force."

"The fact you know human first aid is kind of cute," Stiles informs him, and Derek sighs as he glances up at Peter.

"I can't tell if he said that because he's Stiles or because he has a concussion," Derek tells his mom dryly, and Peter snorts, cocking his head to the side as he hears several pairs of feet heading their way.

"Ah, we have company coming," Peter informs them, and Derek stops pulling Stiles' pain which makes the younger teen wince.

“You do know that two older men on a high school campus is a bit suspicious,” Lydia comments as she walks over to where the three of them are standing, Jackson and Allison right behind her.

“Stiles?” Allison asks, a hand coming up to cover her mouth as she stares at where some blood is on Stiles’ hand from where he touched the back of his head.

“Hey, guys,” Stiles says, “I’m fine. Peter was just concerned that’s all.”

“Which doesn’t explain why they’re on school campus,” Jackson glares at both of the Hale’s.

 _So, this is my other son_ , Peter thinks to himself as he inspects the blonde, _he has my eyes._

"The school has some things from before the fire," Peter says smoothly, holding back the urge to pull Jackson into his arms and scent his pup. "We were about to leave when we heard shouting."

"Scott, Scott did this to you?" Allison asks looking heart-broken as she moves closer to Stiles.

"I'm fine," Stiles tries to brush it off despite the protective werewolf burr attached to his side. "He didn't mean too."

Jackson immediately scoffs, "Somehow I doubt that."

"You're bleeding," Allison points out as she reaches into her bag to pull out a packet of tissues.

"Only a little," Stiles points out weakly as Allison cleans off the blood from Stiles' hand with worried frown.

"A little too much," Derek says darkly as he checks out the back of his head against, frowning at the blood matting the short hair of Stiles' buzzcut. "Can I have tissue?"

"Sure," Allison hands a fresh tissue over. "Why did he do this?"

"Was this a hate crime? Because if it was, we can get him suspended for it," Lydia says as she circles Stiles to frown at the back of his head, hovering her hand over it as Derek tries to mop up the blood, so they could see how serious it was. "I hate how head wounds bleed so much, it's always hard to tell how bad it is."

"I'm _fine_ ," Stiles insists though he doesn't move again when Lydia slaps his shoulder for doing it.

"You look like you're about to pass out with shock," Jackson says dryly. "But sure, you're fine."

Stiles glares at Jackson, "I didn't ask for your opinion, Jax."

"You haven't called me that in years," Jackson looks almost thrown before firming his expression. "Still doesn't change how you look, Stiles."

Sticking his tongue out at the blonde, Stiles hisses when he feels Derek tenderly wipe the rest of the blood away, a hand holding onto his elbow where no one can notice as Derek sucks the pain out of him.

“This wasn’t a hate crime,” Stiles tells them, wanting them to stop worrying so much over him. “Seriously, it was just a misunderstanding.”

“Hm, is that what teens call bullying now a days?” Peter raises an eyebrow.

“No, we certainly don’t call it that,” Jackson crosses his arms and then glances at Derek like he’s sizing the man up.

Peter rolls his eyes at that, this boy may be his actual son but he’s a fool if he thinks he can get in between Stiles and Derek’s relationship.

“Perhaps, we should take him to the nurse’s office,” Lydia decides for them all after Derek finishes cleaning up most of the blood. “And if I catch Scott sniffing around I’m going to have a word or two with him.”

“Guys, seriously, leave Scott alone. He’s just dealing with some stuff right now, he just broke up with his first girlfriend,” he glances at Allison who looks a little guilty, “Don’t worry about him, I know you two had something, but he needs to work out his issues.”

“Well he should learn how to deal with them without hurting you,” Derek growls.

"He didn't mean too," he says again, and gets a range of looks from everyone there—the bitchiest of looks from the two Hale's and Jackson.

"You sound like a battered partner," Lydia informs him almost icily. "Don't excuse him for this."

Stiles sighs in frustration, but decides he's wasted his breath long enough.

"We'll take him to the nurse's office," Jackson tells Derek as he moves forward to take wrap an arm around Stiles. "Don't you have other things to do?"

Derek's lips pull back so he's barring his teeth at the younger teen as he tightens his grip slightly on Stiles' arm.

How dare he suggest that he leaves _his_ injured mate!

"We do need to drop of things home, Derek," Peter steps in before his son commits fratricide on Jackson. "We'll be back to pick you up though, Stiles. If the nurses wants to send you home, just text, okay?"

“Fine,” Derek grumbles in agreement, giving Stiles’ arm one more squeeze before finally pulling away.

Standing up and keeping pressure on the wound, Stiles gives Peter and Derek a hug before walking away with Lydia, Jackson and Allison. The three of them not leaving until they get him to the nurses office, where they stay.

* * *

“I would suggest going home for the rest of the school day and laying down. Make sure someone is there to wake you up every hour and ask you a few basic questions so we can make sure you don’t have a concussion,” the nurse tells him, smiling as she finishes putting a bandage on Stiles’ wound.

“Okay, thanks.”

“Oh my, that’s a very pretty necklace you have. Where did you get it from?”

Glancing down at where the Triskelion is settles against his chest, Stiles looks back up and says, “It was my mother’s, and was given to me from a friend since she died before she could give it to me.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re friend gave it to you. It looks really important.”

“Umm....yeah,” Stiles squints and reads the woman’s name tag, “Jennifer”, “Anyways, thanks Jennifer, I hope you have a good day.”

“You too, sweetie.”

Stiles smiles at her, somewhat uncomfortable with the term of "sweetie", and pulls out his phone to text Peter.

**User: Nurse wants me to go home, rest every hour and all that.**

**Peter: Derek will be there soon to pick you up, I'm unpacking my car.**

**User: Tell him to text me when he gets here.**

"You have someone coming to get you?" the nurse smiles at him, and Stiles nods with a slight wince.

"Yeah, he's going to text me when he gets here," Stiles explains making the nurse nod before turning to Stiles' friends.

"You can go, class is going to start soon, isn't it?" the nurse, Jennifer, asks with another smile, dark pink lips stretching in a smile that vaguely gives Stiles the creeps.

"Shouldn't one of us stay with him?" Allison asks worriedly while Lydia looks at the nurse with slightly narrowed eyes.

"You're new, aren't you? Because normally one of us would stay until the injured party has been picked up," Lydia informs Jennifer, and Jennifer smiles tightly at her.

"I will stay with him until his ride arrives," Jennifer tells them as Jackson sits stubbornly beside Stiles and presses his shoulder against Stiles'. "He'll be fine."

Jackson looks ready to argue and Lydia doesn't look pleased by the brush off, so Stiles speaks up.

"I'm fine," Stiles tells them and makes a shooing motion. "I'll be fine, just go to class. Text me later, okay? We'll reschedule the studying, okay?"

"We'll text you, and you'll send Peter's address if you're feeling up to it and we'll study then, okay?" Lydia asks in return as the nurse turns to do something and a tap goes on.

"If Peter's alright with it," he says with a slight grimace, and Lydia nods as she holds her hand out for Jackson with an expectant look on her face.

Jackson sighs and gets up after absently running a hand down Stiles' arm, and reaches out to grab Lydia's hand.

"Rest well, okay?" Allison asks worriedly, Bambi eyes big and wide, and worried, and Stiles smiles at her in reassurance.

Stiles glances down at his phone after they leave, the feeling of his hairs raising on the back of his neck don’t go unnoticed as he pretends to be playing on his phone.

He glances out of the corner of his eye and feels his heart leap into his throat when he realizes the woman is just _staring_ at him, in a way that isn’t normal even for a regular nurse.

“You seem like a very smart young man.”

Stiles glances up and tries to not let his suspicions show on his face, “Yeah, I guess. Although my dad would probably say otherwise.”

“So tell me, where did you get the Hale Pack’s symbol?”

Stiles makes a confused face, playing dumb as best as he can.

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“Don’t play stupid with me boy, I know that isn’t just a regular necklace,” she steps forward and Stiles takes one back.

“Okay, uuuuh, I don’t know if you had a little something today or whatever, but this is just a normal necklace ma’am. My mom had for a long time, she got it from some music festival or some shit,” Stiles explains quickly as he keeps making his way to the door, his eyes never leaving the woman as she comes closer to him.

"You really shouldn't be moving around so much, you just hit your head after all," there was something vaguely threatening about her that reminds him too much of Chris and Victoria Argent.

 _Hunter_ , he identifies mentally as he pauses near the door.

"Sorry," Stiles fakes a sheepish smile, "but you are kind of freaking me out, I don't get why the necklace is so important. Yeah, it's a weird symbol and everything, but my mom was kind of into weird and quirky things. Is the Hale Pack a band? Because that will explain so much about your questions though it'll still be weird, because there was a family named Hale that used to live here, they were really big in the community."

A flash of frustration over her face before she moves it into a smile with cool brown-eyes, "Perhaps I got confused. You see, I thought I knew that symbol from somewhere. Are you certain you don't know what it means?"

Stiles feints a look down before looking up at her with a confused look, "I think it's something Celtic? I don't know, I just think it's pretty."

His phone buzzes in his hand, and Stiles glances down to see Derek's name on his screen with relief, and looks up at the nurse.

"Sorry, still don't know what you meant, but my rider's here so," Stiles pulls his bag strap higher up his shoulder and hovers awkwardly near the door.

"Of course," Jennifer steps back, a tight smile on her lips. "I hope I don't have you under my care again any time soon."

"Trust me," Stiles says as he edges out of the door. "I feel the same way."

* * *

Stiles doesn't run down the corridor to the front doors and the freedom and safety that Derek's car promises because that would just suspicious, but he does walk very quickly away from the Hunter posing as his school nurse.

 _Peter needs to know this shit,_ Stiles decides as he hits the doors, pushing them open and hurrying down the steps and towards where Derek's car is idling.

“Is everything alright?” are the first words that come out of Derek’s mouth when Stiles slams the car door shut after running out of the school like a bat out of hell.

“Yeah, beside the fact some creepy ass nurse tried to get me to spill I knew about werewolves,” Stiles admits, catching his breath after that whole thing.

 _“What!”_ Derek snarls as he flashes blue-eyes and turns to get out of the car.

“Woah! Woah! Hold up there, big guy. No need to go all grrr, she’s just a harmless creepy hunter pretending to be a nurse at school named Jennifer.”

That name seems to catch Derek’s attention, “Jennifer?”

He puts the car into drive and rips out of the parking lot.

“Woah! What the hell!”

“Jennifer was the name of Peter’s nurse, and after he woke up, she dropped off the files,” Derek explains as he speeds down the street, glancing in the rear view mirror just to make sure no one is following them. “Peter needs to know this immediately.”

“What do you think she’s going to do? I’m a student.”

“I don’t know, Stiles. What would any Hunter want to do to an innocent teenager in a Pack?” Derek hisses through his fangs that are slowly starting to grow because of his anger, “Poison them, stab them, burn them. Seduce them into their beds and toy around with them until they spill all their secrets out to her, just so she could use it against you and burn your family alive.”

Stiles feels his heart stop at those words, he heard some of what Peter and Noah had been talking about that first night, but not the whole thing, so he wasn’t sure what the relationship was with Derek and the Argent’s but now...now he knows. The flinching, the curling in on himself and shut down whenever her name was mentioned, it all makes sense now.

“Derek,” he breathes out in shock.

“Hunters aren’t you friend, they’re just a bunch of—of murders and—and—“

“Derek, you’re hands are shaking, I think you should pull over,” Stiles cautions, watching as Derek’s claws start to form and dig into the steering wheel of the Camaro.

“I thought I loved her—I was so _fucking stupid!”_

“Derek! Pull over right now!”

The wolf snarls and does as he’s told, pulling over on the side of the road where the Preserve is at and gets out of the car. He snaps his jaws and hunches in on himself feeling his anchor snap and his control dissolve.

“Derek?” Stiles says shakily as he gets out of the car and comes around to where the older man is standing.

Derek tenses as Stiles gets closer, and Stiles stays just in touching distance.

"Derek?" Stiles asks again, voice still slightly shaky.

Derek hunches further down and crosses his arms firmly over his chest, feeling a whine building in his throat as his mate sounds scared.

He's done it, he's finally scared Stiles away from him.

"Derek?" Stiles repeats and licks his lips. "Is it okay if I touch you?"

Derek shudders and looks up at him, all electric-blue eyes, sideburns and no eyebrows—full Beta shift.

"Why?" Derek asks with an almost canine whine underling his words. "I just told you how I was stupid enough to get my family killed."

"But you didn't," Stiles tells him, inching closer and lowering himself to where Derek's hunched and crouched. "Nothing you just said makes me believe it was your fault."

Derek whines as he flinches away from Stiles, and Stiles licks his lips, wondering if he's going to make this better or worse with his words.

But the moment Stiles realised the truth about Kate and Derek? He remembered how old Derek is now, nineteen, and how the fire was six years ago, and that means, that means Derek was only thirteen.

It makes Stiles feel sick, that someone could do that to a child, that someone had done that to Derek.

"I told _her_ ," Derek begins, like he's protesting the idea it's not his fault.

"It doesn't matter," Stiles tells him firmly. "You were thirteen Derek, it wasn't your fault, it was never your fault. It was all _her_ , okay? She was the sick bitch who seduced you, she's the sick bitch that set the fire. Derek," he pauses as he bites his lip, but he has to tell Derek, "Derek, I don't think you were her first, okay? I think she did what she did to you and your family before."

It's a theory he had been nursing, running through his head since he first looked over the Hale files. It had been practised, something she had refined over the years, and on other Packs.

“I don’t know how you can look at me. I don’t know why Peter didn’t just kill me when he found out, I’m the reason the fire started,” Derek sobs, his shoulders shaking as his claws dig into his arms.

“No. _No_. There is nothing wrong with you, you have never done anything wrong,” Stiles tells him, hoping Derek can hear the truth in his words.

He lays a hand on Derek’s shoulder and when the man doesn’t flinch away or growl at him he moves a little closer, the werewolf whimpers and Stiles shushes him softly.

“Hey, hey. Derek, it’s okay. You were just an innocent teenager who thought he was in love,” Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair hoping that’ll help to calm him.

The wolf inside of Derek’s head howls at the gentle touches his mate is giving them.

He yearns for it and yet is disgusted with himself because he wants Stiles’ touch so badly, he doesn’t deserve it. He’s just as bad as Kate.

 _I’m a monster_ , Derek thinks to himself, but pushes into the touch against his own words.

“Derek, you’re not a monster.”

Derek's breathing hitches as he turns into Stiles, burying his face against him as his shoulder shake and he lets out a sob as Stiles pulls him into a proper hug.

"You're not a monster," Stiles repeats firmly as they basically sit on the roadside. "It wasn't your fault, it was never your fault."

Derek whines into Stiles' shoulder, burying his nose against Stiles' neck as he cries.

He wants to confess, confess how much he wants Stiles in ways he shouldn't, wants to confess that Derek's going to ruin him, that he's going to hurt him, that Derek will be worse than his father and worse than Kate because he'll never be able to let Stiles go.

He wants to tell Stiles that he's sorry, that he's so sorry about the fact that Stiles is stuck with him as a mate. He wants to say he's sorry that Stiles' stuck with Derek, broken and monstrous Derek, Derek that will hurt him, that will ruin him.

But when he tries, all that comes out is sobs and whines that he muffles against Stiles, leaning against his poor mate's body as he shakes apart and trying not to hold him.

Because if Derek holds Stiles back, if he hugs him back then he'll never want to let go.

Gentle fingers run through his hair and Derek feels something snap in place inside his chest, like something has _fixed_ itself and it worries him for a moment.

Only for a moment, because then Stiles is pulling him into his arms, hugging him, holding him. Telling him everything’s going to be alright and Derek isn’t a monster.

“Don’t leave me,” Derek bites his own tongue at those words.

He shouldn’t say them, shouldn’t ask Stiles for something he probably doesn’t even want to do.

“Don’t worry, Sourwolf. You’re stuck with me until the end,” Stiles laughs, but not cruel like how Kate had laughed.

His laughter is gentle and warm, like walk through a field of sunflowers, like coming home after a long day. It soaks Derek’s bones with warm and he clings harder to the light that radiates out of Stiles’ every being.

 _I’m going to be his end_ , Derek thinks as he stares up at Stiles’ smiling face.

He doesn’t want to hurt Stiles, doesn’t want to hold him back. But he’s selfish and wants to keep the human all to himself. Peter says it’s okay to be a little selfish, but Derek doesn’t think this is a little, doesn’t think this is one little thing.

He thinks this is the most selfish thing he’s doing, choosing Stiles as his anchor and asking him to stay.

Derek has always been greedy, always been too greedy for his own good, and now it would hurt Stiles at the least and kill him at the most, and it'll all be _Derek's_ fault.

"It's going to be okay," Stiles promises as Derek buries his head against Stiles, hiding his face from the awful truth.

 _No, no it's not_ , Derek thinks as he shakes against Stiles. _I'm going to hurt you, I'm going to ruin you._

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek's hair, and tries not to take too much guilty enjoyment in the feel of Derek's soft hair through his fingers.

 _He must not have put product into it today_ , Stiles absently thinks. as he strokes Derek's dark hair.

“Maybe I should drive the Camaro back to the apartment,” Stiles tells the older man when a moment has passed.

Without arguing, Derek nods his head, but clings Stiles a moment longer, not wanting to separate from his mate just yet.

“I promise when we get to the apartment you can cuddle me as much as you want, Sourwolf. But I doubt any cop is going to just stroll by and not find it suspicious we’re curled up together on the side of the road,” Stiles teases.

Grunting, Derek stands up and helps Stiles up as well, watching as the teenager easily takes the situation in his hands, helping Derek to the passenger side of the car and waiting until he’s sure he’s buckled in before going around to get in the driver’s side.

“I promise not to crash,” Stiles winks.

It hadn’t even registered in Derek’s mind that Stiles might crash, or was a reckless driver.

He simply nods his head and stares out the window the rest of the ride to Peter’s apartment.

Stiles chews on his bottom lip as he glances worriedly over at Derek.

Stiles didn't know if any of his words helped or just made it worst, all he knew is he didn't like how silent and distant Derek is with tears still wet on his cheeks.

But he doesn't know what else to say or do, and can only hope that Peter can help.

Stiles hesitates then reaches over to squeeze Derek's knee as he takes the familiar way home, err, Peter's apartment.

Derek shifts his gaze from the window down to where Stiles' hand lingers a moment before moving away, the warmth of Stiles' hand lingering longer than it should, and he tries not to let his wolf's whine for more affect him.

Stiles is glad that Derek either took Peter's clicker thing from Peter's car or Peter got him a new one, but it saved him having to talk to the security, and he pulls the Camaro into the space between Peter's car and his rather neglected Jeep with a small guilty glance to the blue Jeep sadly waiting for him.

Stiles glances at Derek after he turns off the car, about to ask if he wants to wait a moment, but Derek's already turned to open the door and Stiles undoes his belt and follows his lead.

* * *

When they get inside of the apartment, Peter immediately snaps to attention and is at Derek’s side in an instant.

“What happened?” he asks while pulling Derek into a hug and scenting his son.

“I think he might have had a panic attack while we were driving, but I made him pull over,” Stiles explains, feeling the urge to come over and join the hug but isn’t sure if he’s even wanted.

“Come on, pup. Let’s get you settled down on the couch,” Peter leads him over and sets him down on the couch, grabbing a throw and putting it over Derek’s shoulders while he sits there in shock.

“Stiles come over here and sit on his other side, it’ll help having his ma-pack mates near him,” Peter corrects himself, hoping Stiles doesn’t notice.

“Yes. Of course,” Stiles walks over quickly and kicks off his shoes before curling up under the throw with Derek.

Derek turns into Stiles, burying his face against Stiles' neck and breathing in the scent of home and mate while Peter presses against his back.

Slowly, Derek relaxes against Stiles while being surrounded by the scent of home, Pack, _mate_ , Alpha and _mom_ , and allows Peter and Stiles shift him until Stiles is leaning against one of the armrests with Derek between his legs and leaning against his chest with Derek's face buried in Stiles' neck while Peter has Derek's legs on his lap and is comforting stroking his ankles.

"What happened?" Peter asks Stiles softly, relaxing some as the sourness of Derek's emotional turmoil eases into something akin to contentment.

Stiles grimaces as he strokes the back of Derek's head, "You remember your nurse Jennifer?"

Peter freezes and his expression becomes fixed in a way that tells Stiles that he's hit onto another subject of trauma—really, he wants to bundle both of his wolves up in blankets, feed his mom's special cookies, and then go and get rid of all the people that's hurt them for good.

It's a rather violent urge that Stiles believes Peter would find adorable and try to sharpen while Derek wouldn't know how to cope with someone caring that isn't Peter.

"What about her?" Peter asks almost stiffly, almost jerkily going back to stroking his thumb over Derek's surprisingly delicate ankle-bone.

"Well, she's now the school nurse and is setting off all my this is a Hunter instincts as she demanded to know everything I knew about werewolves," Stiles informs him as he holds Derek slightly tighter as if to protect him from the mention of what set him off.

“Jennifer....yes. I do remember that woman,” Peter glances down at his hands, blinking sluggishly as the memories of spending six years trapped in his own body come back to haunt him.

At first it was just her torturing him, burning wolfsbane into the places his skin was already scarred over from the fire, letting it sit there for weeks until he was almost dying before letting him heal back up.

And then....

And then there were more of them.

Peter was just one man, a man who was in coma, trapped and frozen in his body, and this fucking _bitch_ let all these hunters gather around in his room to laugh at him, to take photos after they beat him to death, burned him, branded marks into his flesh and—and _raped him._

Jennifer had to prepare for those _special clients_ , apparently it was common for a patient in coma to be raped. Whether it was by a nurse themself or someone just trying to make a few more bucks while letting a stranger into the room.

Peter wanted to howl with rage, want to kill them men who degraded him and turned him into a fucking joke. A little play toy. He remembers their scents, all of them, and the moment he knows the Argent’s aren’t a threat, he’s going to fucking _hunt them down_.

He’s going to kill them so fucking slowly, let them choke on their own blood and guts, suffer for what they’ve done to him.

“She was quite a nasty person,” Peter adds a moment later, still looking haunted.

Stiles firmly decides not to ask, like he didn't ask how Peter is Derek's mom and Derek seemed to only now find out.

Stiles may be tactless at time, but he isn't going to dig into someone's trauma just to satisfy his own curiosity.

If either of them wanted him to know, they'd tell him in their own time.

"Yeah, I kind of got that impression," Stiles says, trying to keep his tone light and hoping to keep Peter from his memories. "So, yeah, she's my school nurse now."

And Stiles _is_ going to look into what happened with his old nurse because she was just an innocent person that shouldn't have been hurt or anything just so an evil bitch could take her place.

"Don't be alone with her," Peter tells him firmly, looking at Stiles seriously. "And don't let on that you know about werewolves. She is one of those Hunters that won't care that you are human, the fact that you know about us and wearing our Pack symbol is enough for her."

Stiles swallows thickly and nods as he glances down at Derek, stroking his hair as he thinks about the _other_ evil bitch that didn't care that Derek was a child.

"I suppose this is a bad time to mention that my friends want to come over here to study," he says as he glances up at Peter.

Peter who looks at him with a complicated look on his face that Stiles isn't sure if he prefers over the haunted look or not.

“Let’s just make sure Derek is okay with that first. I don’t want any intrud— _guests_ coming over if he’s not feeling up to it,” Peter has to bite down on the urge to tell Stiles no.

This is his den, he doesn’t want any _outsiders_ in here, especially not an _Argent_ girl.

Nodding his head, Stiles hugs Derek a little harder, hoping the man will feel better.

Shifting into his Beta form, Peter grunts and leans over to scent his son, touching his face softly and making a small whine in the back of his throat until he has the wolf's attention.

He growls softly when Derek flashes blue-eyes, but not as a threat or a warning, he growls in a way to show his pup he’s safe. He’s okay. He’s with his pack and no one is going to hurt him.

“Mom?” Derek struggles with forming any words at the moment, voice sounding like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper.

“I’m here, Pup,” Peter hugs him, smiling when he feels Derek wrap his arms around him and hug him back.

"Should we move to the bed? More room to cuddle," Stiles suggests as he curls around Derek's back.

"Good idea," Peter says as he strokes a hand down Derek's face before shifting Derek and pulling him into his arms as he stands.

"I can walk," Derek says gruffly, slowly, but buries his face into Peter's neck as the older man carries him towards his bedroom with Stiles hurrying behind them.

"I know Pup," Peter soothes as he drops Derek softly on the edge of his large bed—thankful that he decided to indulge himself all those years ago—and glances at Stiles to include him with this order. "Strip."

Peter pulls off his shirt as Derek does the same and the younger wolf has to stand to roll his jeans off his legs while Stiles flushes and turns away to shrug off his jacket and kicks off his jeans.

Stiles takes a deep breath, firmly remind his cock it should stay soft, and turns to the bed where Derek and Peter is already laying there waiting for him.

Both are lying on their sides with Peter curled protectively around Derek's back, and Derek holds up one arm, so Stiles can slip in and cuddle against Derek's chest.

Stiles crawls onto the bed and slips under Derek's arm to take his place cuddling Derek's chest as Derek drops his arm so it's wrapped around Stiles and pulls the younger teen closer, so he can rebury his face against Stiles' hair.

"I need to be woke up every hour and asked questions," Stiles informs Peter, already feeling drowsy and content with Derek pressed against him, his arm heavy and wrapped around him, and the feel of Derek's nose against the buzz of his hair.

"I'm not going to sleep, and I'll remember," Peter says as he strokes Derek's shoulder. "And Derek?"

Derek grunts against Stiles' head in answer.

"We'll be talking about this tattoo," Peter informs him as he taps at the ink, and Derek grumbles slightly as he tightens his grip around Stiles. "Rest, you both need it."

It was an order that Stiles is happy to comply with.

* * *

Stiles wakes up a little groggy later, with strong arms wrapped around him and a warm body against his back.

He jolts awake a little when a spike of anxiety hits him and he glances down to check that he isn’t hard, sighing in relief when for once his dick doesn’t try to embarrass him by waking him up with a hardon.

Derek rumbles at his back like a giant cat and Stiles snickers a little at how cute he looks when he’s sleeping.

Sitting up, Stiles squirms out of Derek’s strong hold around him and runs to the bathroom so he can relieve himself.

Coming back, he raises an eyebrow when he sees Peter sitting up on the bed and reading a book.

“Afternoon?”

“Your phone has been going off for the past hour,” Peter tells him in response, “I was tempted to throw it out the window and just buy you a new one, but then I realized you probably wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Stiles snorts before coming over to take his phone and check all the messages his friends sent him.

He smiles a little at all the nice get well text Allison and Lydia sent him. Jackson’s is, of course, brash but honest like he is and makes Stiles roll his eyes.

“Schools almost about to end, is it okay if they can come over?” Stiles asks again wanting to make absolutely sure Peter is okay with people coming into their den.

Peter purses his lips slightly as he glances down to where Derek's still sleeping, his scent filled with nothing but sleepy contentment, and then over to where Stiles is holding his phone and looking slightly hopeful, and he gives a big sigh as he closes his book.

"I suppose I should start some food," Peter says reluctantly as he puts the book on his bedside table. "And inform security that we're having guests."

The giant grin that crosses Stiles' face almost makes it worth it, _almost_.

The imagined image of Victoria Argent's face when she hears her precious daughter has entered the wolf's den? That cheers Peter up far more at the notion of having outsiders in his den.

"However, they stick to the living room, kitchen and bathroom," Peter tells Stiles firmly. "The bedrooms are off limits, as is the upstairs."

"There's an upstairs?" Stiles asks in some shock, and Peter rolls his eyes.

"This is the penthouse, Stiles," Peter reminds him in a tone that's both dry and yet patient at the same time, the fact Peter pulls it off amazes Stiles quietly. "Of course there is an upstairs. It's just all the living space is here."

With five bedrooms—Peter's master bedroom, Derek's own bedroom, and the two guestrooms that Cora and Laura often used in the past—the several bathrooms—Peter's private bathroom, the private bathrooms attached to the guestrooms and the main downstairs bathroom—the living room, kitchen and the small and private study, it was easy for guests to forget there _is_ an upstairs and Peter had enclosed the stairs so it wasn't obvious that there _was_ an upstairs, and that's how Peter liked it.

"Right, I'll tell them," Stiles says as his thumbs flies over the keyboard to message them.

"You should probably put on some pants," Peter reminds him as he stands up and stretches before padding over to his set of drawers and closest to pick out an outfit to greet Stiles' friends—and his youngest son—and possibly Chris Argent.

Now, what shows off he's still hot, despite his scars, the best?

Stiles pulls on the Henley Derek was wearing earlier, wanting to wear something long sleeved and comfortable for once, pulling out his phone he sends a text to the group chat Lydia made for the four of them and watches from where he’s sitting on the bed as Peter changes his clothes.

The man switches between a few shirts, before settling on a tan turtle-neck and some jeans that fit him well.

He wears fuzzy black socks because he’s in his own house and his feet get cold on the wooden floors, and he’s the damn Alpha—if he wants to wear fuzzy socks, he will.

Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Peter turns to pull Stiles into a hug so he can scent mark the boy for a moment, getting a chuckle from Stiles when he tickles the top of his throat.

“I’ll start on dinner, try to keep quiet. I’d rather not have Derek wake up right now, he needs some rest,” Peter tells the teenager as they leave the bedroom and Peter enters the kitchen and starts pulling some ingredients out to make some grilled Cajun garlic butter lobsters—having a lot of money means he can buy the freshest of products for his pack and spoil them with good food.

Stiles pulls out his backpack and starts to set out his homework, and some notes he took, leaning back on the couch in the living room and waiting for the others to arrive as he messes on his phone for a bit.

* * *

Chris pulls into the visitors' carpark—because of course the building Peter chose to live in would have a separate carpark just for visitors—and peers at the building that Peter claims as his own.

It's not the massive high-rise of the big cities, but Chris supposes it would considered a high-rise for Beacon Hills' standard, and Chris didn't doubt it was the most expensive of the apartment buildings in Beacon Hills.

Peter always prefer to indulge himself when he could, and Chris has no doubt that Peter truly indulged himself when selecting this apartment.

"We can go up on our own," Allison tells him, and Chris glances to where the three teens in the back of his car that had been chatting over their phones.

"I'd rather go up with you," Chris tells her making Allison roll her eyes slightly, obviously believing that he's being his overprotective-self.

And part of him is doing that because he's being protective, he wasn't letting Allison to walk into a werewolf's den without checking it out. But the other part? It's because he wants to see Peter, wants to try and see if there is anything left of the man he loves under the angry wraith he saw in the mall or the broken man he saw later or even the hard and cold mask Peter wore in Chris' house.

Perhaps being in Peter's own den would soften the man, make it possible for Chris to see if the man he loves is still there.

Chris knows it's wrong to use Allison in this way, knows he's breaking the promise he made Victoria when she was pregnant with Allison to never see Peter again, but Chris has always been weak when it comes to Peter.

It was like Chris was addicted to him, to his touch and lips, the look in those blue-eyes whenever he saw Chris and the way they would light up, the words of love and forever that sounded so perfect coming from Peter.

It had been over seventeen years since they last saw each other. And Chris is still as in love as he had been when he was all of twenty and Peter was sixteen, and Chris thought he could have this, have Peter despite everything.

* * *

Peter was prepared for three teenagers to enter his den, what he wasn’t expecting was Chris to be walking in behind them.

He pauses as he’s searing the garlic in the pan and stares at the Hunter....the man he loved.

Still loves.

Chris looks up and catches Peter’s eyes. He glances at the scars running down the man’s face, the marks of the fire leaving half of Peter’s face to look like something out of the horror movie.

“Chris....I wasn’t expecting you to show up,” Peter says, clasping his hands behind his back as he steps into the living room.

 _He looks comfortable_ , is the first thing that crosses through Chris’s head as he stares at the younger man.

“I was just coming in to chat,” Chris says in answer.

“Ummm, so I have all the studying stuff set up in the living room,” Stiles says as he directs the other three teenagers into the other room before anything can start.

Peter watches as the teens leave them alone, and then turns without giving Chris another look, showing the man he means _nothing_ to him, even if his wolf is howling at him to go and drag Chris into his arms.

Chris glances towards the archway to the living room before following after Peter and leaning against one of the counters as Peter goes back to cooking.

Peter ignores him as he juggles the pans and such on the stove, and Chris sighs a little after watching him for a while.

Peter had always been the best at using silence as a weapon and a shield when he wanted, and Chris had always hated it when Peter would use it against him.

"Peter..." Chris trails off, not knowing what to say or how to begin.

It hadn't been this hard before, it had been easy for so long until Chris' family began to ruin in and then it was like Peter couldn't share anything with him anymore, like Peter suddenly didn't trust Chris despite them being together for two years.

"Peter," Chris tries again, hand raising as if he wants to touch Peter. "Can we talk?"

"About what?" Peter asks as he glances almost coolly at Chris after making sure nothing would burn without his attention and turns to look at Chris with his arms crossed over his chest. "About how the Argent's have suddenly moved to Hale land? About the bitch you call a sister is coming to visit? About your wife no doubt plotting my death? Or do you want to talk about how you or one of your lot cut my niece's body in half and then left her to be found like she was nothing?"

“That wasn’t—“

“ _Shut up_. Just—you don’t get to fucking talk, you had six fucking years to talk. All I fucking had was the inside of my own brain that was slowly going fucking insane because your lovely wife decided to put a hunter as my nurse,” Peter hisses like the meat that he’s searing. “Six years and you got everything, a loving family, a daughter, a life. I was a living corpse, I got sponge bathed in wolfsbane and laughed at by strangers. I didn’t just suddenly go deaf, I was awake for everything they did to me.”

“I didn’t know,” Chris says, “If I had known—“

“No...of course you didn’t. You never realized anything until the last minute, I guess that’s why you didn’t realize your own bitch of a sister is a murdering paedophile.”

That snaps something in Chris, “Did she hurt you? Peter, what happened?”

“She didn’t hurt me, I would have killed her the moment she got within a few feet of me. But—she destroyed Derek. Do you know how old he was when she came into town? He was barely thirteen.”

“I’m....” The shock and horror in Chris’s voice tells Peter that he wasn’t aware of Kate’s plan and how she decimated the Hale’s. “I’m so sorry that happened to your nephew.”

“My _son_. He’s—he’s my _son_ ,” Peter corrects with gritted teeth, not wanting to tell Chris the truth but also doing it because he's _done_ denying the fact that Derek is his son, and Talia isn't here to make him lie.

The older man freezes, his eyes widening in shock as he says out of breath, “ _We have a son?_ Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s not yours.”

Chris flinches as he steps back, and he stares at Peter.

The words seem to bounce around his head again and again.

 _He's not yours._ **He's not yours.** **_He's not yours._**

"You were seeing someone _else_?" Chris asks almost numbly, the accusation still clear in his words, and Peter gives a short and sharp laugh.

"Oh, of course you would think that first," Peter says bitterly as he shakes his head. "It would suit you, wouldn't it? Allow you to feel all hurt and betrayed, and allow you to let your wife and sister do what they want while you can stew in your ignorance."

Peter steps closer, eyes hard and he lowers his voice to something close to a hiss as he leans closer to Chris.

"I was _raped_ , I was raped repeatedly, and I got pregnant," Peter tells him, his voice trembling and trying not to let his mind go back to that time. "And when Talia found me? She blamed _me_ , she saw it as _my_ fault because it was _her_ husband raping me. And when I went to you? When I tried to tell you? She made it so I couldn't say anything, I could only cry into your arms. Do you remember that? Do you remember us having sex later? How you teased me for gaining weight?"

“Why—you—I—“ Chris chokes on the words, unsure of how to go about this. “You kept having sex with me after that night, I thought you had just had a fight with Talia or something. Why would you let me keep touching you even when you were—were raped?!”

“Because I didn’t want anything to change,” Peter tells him, setting the wooden spoon in his hand down as he lowers the heat on the stove. “I thought, if you noticed I was pregnant, you’d ignore your family’s wishes and take me away. But then Talia decided it would be better to lock me up for the rest of my pregnancy, and you _left_.”

Chris reaches out to touch the man, but Peter flinches and flashes red-eyes back at him.

“ **Don’t.** Don’t you fucking dare put your hand on me, you don’t have the right to touch me or even look at me. The only reason I’m playing nice is because Stiles happens to be friends with your daughter. But when she starts to show the same insanity that all you fucking Argent’s have, I’ll be there for him. I’ll comfort him after your daughter hurts him by becoming one of you _hunters_ ,” Peter snarls out the words, his nails turning into claws as he holds onto his control. “Six years, Christopher.”

“Do you think I just forgot about you? That I never tried to find my way back to where you were and help you? You’ve always been on my mind, haunting me in the corners of my imagination,” Chris takes a step forward, “I could never love anyone the same way I love you.”

“Thinking isn’t the same as doing,” Peter spits, “But I guess Victoria was right about one thing. You’re a fucking _bitch_. You didn’t have the backbone to leave your family then, and you still don’t. You feed off of their poison and let them lead you around like some prized fucking breeding dog.”

"That's not fair," Chris tells him, wincing, and Peter laughs bitterly.

"Unfair? _Unfair?_ Unfair is losing the man I love because he can't stand up to his father. Unfair is being _raped_ by a man I'm meant to trust. Unfair is having my sister _blame_ me for it. Unfair is having _my son_ being taken from me, and being raised without knowing me for who I am," Peter says everything with a bitter edge as he steps forward and Chris flinches as he listens.

"Unfair is having to live in the same house as my rapist, deal with him raping me whenever he feels like only so I can actually see my son. Unfair is having my sister punish me for acting like a goddamn parent to my son, unfair is having to listen to my son cry and my sister tell him _her_ son is just trying to get attention," Peter leans closer to Chris' face.

"Unfair is having to stand back as my twelve-year-old son enters into a relationship he's not ready for. Unfair is having my son blame me when his first girlfriend dies. Unfair is not being able do anything when you know some bitch is seducing my barely thirteen-year-old son, _raping_ him, and my sister orders me to do nothing. Unfair is burning alive in the place I grew up in, listening to my family burning and screaming as they die, unfair is not knowing if my son is safe, unfair is not knowing if my attempts to save some of my family made a difference or not.

Unfair is being trapped in my own body, feeling cell as cell heal as my new Alpha abandons me like I'm already dead and takes my son with her. Unfair is having photos taken of me as your sister brags about what she's done.

Unfair is having wolfbane rubbed into my burns and leaving them until I'm dying before I'm given the antidote. Unfair is having Hunters parading in and out my room to laugh at me, mock me, hurt me for shits and giggles. Unfair is knowing my nurse is getting paid to let people _rape_ me," Peter glares at Chris. "Do I need to go on about things that are unfair, Christopher?"

“Mom?” Derek says, rubbing his face as he walks into the kitchen, waking up from the smell of cooking.

He freezes when he sees Chris in the kitchen with his mother and his shoulders raise in defense. “Is everything okay?”

Chris stares at the older teen before him, his mind whispering to him, _this could have been your son. You could have raised him with Peter if you weren’t such a fucking coward._

Of course, that also wouldn’t have led to Allison his daughter. Maybe he would have had one with Peter, but he can’t imagine a life without her.

He also can’t imagine having a life without Peter.

“Everything’s fine,” Peter tells them both, “I think Chris was about to leave for the day. Seeing as the kids will be busy with their study group for a while.”

His smile looks like a mask, but Derek knows not to call him out while an outsider is in the room.

Tilting his chin down in a sign of submission, Derek takes a step back to let them have their privacy to themselves.

“I’ll be upstairs in the study,” he tells his mother.

“Of course, pup. I’ll call you when dinner is done.”

Peter watches his son leave, tracking his footsteps away from the kitchen, and turns to Chris.

"You can leave now," Peter tells him, holding on to his control.

"Peter," Chris says quietly in an agonised tone, " _please_."

" _Go_ ," Peter demands as he turns back to the stove and the food.

Chris hesitates as he looks at Peter's tensed back, he didn't know what to do.

It didn't feel right to leave now, not after what Peter had just told him, but could he ignore Peter's want for him to leave? He didn't know.

"Peter, _please_ ," Chris repeats as he steps closer. "How could I leave after that?"

"Leaving seems to be the thing you're best at," Peter says bitterly as he keeps his attention on the food.

“What if I don’t want to leave! I don’t—I don’t want to go back to her. I never wanted her in the first place, I did it to protect you.”

“Protect me? _Protect me_!” Peter feels his eyes burn like hot coal. “You’ve done nothing but hurt me. I gave you my heart, and you fucking played me like I was some summer fling.”

“Peter, just let me—“

“Get out.”

“Pumpkin, I had to do it. I didn’t want to, but if I wanted to keep you and safe from my family, I had to do it.”

Peter bites on his tongue until there’s blood in his mouth.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to call me _anything_ , so you get the fuck _out_. Find another pathetic little teenager to fill your needs.”

“I still love you.”

Slamming the knife down hard into the chopping block, that the blade gets stuck a few inches in the wooden block.

 **“Get out! Get the fuck out!”** he yells, feeling like he’s on the verge of tears.

There’s a clattering sound from the living room and Peter turns his face away so the teenagers don’t see his burning eyes, crossing his arms in front of him to hide his claws from sight.

"Peter?"

"Dad?"

"Christopher, I think you should go," Peter says as he stares down at the food.

Chris glances at Allison, the look of confusion on her face, and he looks back to Peter, taking the tense way he's holding himself.

He shouldn't say anything, he should just leave like Peter told him to. He especially shouldn't say anything in front of Allison, he should keep his mouth shut and do as he's told.

But Chris has done what he's told for years, he's done everything that he's been told, and the only thing that it got him that made it all worth it was Allison.

But it had lost him Peter, it left Peter behind to be _raped_ , it left him and his son to be hurt and abused, and it left them there for Peter's son to be _raped_ by Chris' own sister and for Peter to be burnt by her in an attempt to kill him and whole of his family.

That's without taking in what Victoria apparently made happen when he was comatose.

"No," Christ tells him, firming his stance and not looking back at Allison, not wanting to see the look on his daughter's face. "You were never a pathetic teenager, I loved you then and I love you now. They said you would be safe if I left you, if I married her, that they would never touch you, and I believed them, and I'm sorry I believed them. Please, _please_ , Peter."

“To keep me safe? A shit job they did at that, you should have known they were going to lie about these kind of things. It’s what your family does. Lie, deceit, rape and murder.”

“Dad, what is he talking about?” Allison asks with a growing fear in her voice. Lydia and Jackson standing at the door with Stiles a few steps away from her.

“Oh? She doesn’t know? Interesting, I’m sure Kate would have already gotten her claws on her, introduce her to the family business and teach her what’s it’s like to _truly_ be an Argent,” Peter rumbles, feeling his control breaking like metal chains.

“Peter,” Stiles says hesitatingly, “Peter, I think that’s enough.”

“I know you’re angry, and you have every right to never want to see me again. But, just listen to me when I tell you I never wanted you to get hurt, _or Derek_.”

“ _Dad?_ What’s going on?” Allison takes a step back.

Peter chuckles at the scent of fear in the room, “She doesn’t know. When were you going to tell her? When she’s eighteen? Twenty? Maybe I should give her a taste of what her family does for a living.”

He turns his head around, ignoring the gasps of shock that come from the teenagers at the sight of his shifted face, the burn marks still there but looking horrifying in the dark lighting.

“ _Look at me_ ,” he growls, “This is what your family did to me. This is what you’re going to do in your future.”

There's a short scream and Jackson is pulling Lydia back as Allison stares frozen, there's a bang from further in the apartment, and Stiles is pretty sure that's Derek coming.

"Peter," Stiles steps forward and in front of his friends. "Peter, please calm down."

"No!" Peter snaps, growling. "She should know just what her family does. Shouldn't she have a good look at her aunt's handiwork? Shouldn't she know the _truth_?"

"Peter, please," Chris takes a step forward. "She's never meant to be part of it."

Peter gives a bitter laugh as he looks at Chris, "Really? You think _your_ sister, or _your_ father will stand by and allow that? Do you think _your_ wife will? Now I'm up and awake, and no longer helpless for whatever Hunter she sends my way to rape me as they please or cut me up for laughs."

Allison gives a gasp as she covers her mouth and stares with wide-eyes.

"Mom!" Derek hurries into the kitchen, and takes in the scene with wide-eyes. "Mom, stop!"

"You know what they are like! They are going to come here, and they are going to try and kill us," Peter snarls as Derek hurries over to him and grabs his elbow. "Your sister is going to come after my son again!"

"I won't let her," Chris tells him as Derek whines and presses against Peter. "Peter, please, you have to believe me."

 _"Believe you?_ Believe you after everything? After you left me? After the bitch you called a wife came to our room, and told me in graphic detail just what she was going to do to me if she caught me sniffing around her husband?" Peter demands.

"Mom, Mom please," Derek begs quietly as Peter holds him close almost absently.

"I didn't have a choice! I thought I was protecting you!" Chris pleads. "I don't know what Victoria said, but it wasn't true!"

"But you knew she came to see me! You knew she would have come to threaten me! And you let her! You let her threaten the person you're meant to love!" Peter snarls, and Chris winces guiltily.

“Peter!” Stiles yells, marching over to the snarling Alpha without any fear in his scent. “You’re scaring them, you need to stop _right now_.”

Huffing and growling, Peter stares down at the teenager standing in front of him. The wolf inside of him is at a loss, wanting both to force Stiles into submission but also wanting to listen to him.

Derek holds him as tightly as he can, and he can smell the faintest scent of fear on his own son and it _hurts_. Peter doesn’t want his own son to be afraid of him.

“I...I’m sorry. I may have misjudged how I reacted in this situation,” Peter admits, staring at the floor as his face slowly shifts back to its normal look. “I....fuck—“

“Hey, it’s fine. Well—you might have traumatized some teenagers and I’m pretty I just lost three new friends. But it’s gonna be okay, Peter. How about we have Derek help you back to your room and you can just sit down somewhere quiet for a moment, okay?”

Peter stands there almost catatonic-like as he nods his head shakily, he glances up at the others and inhales the scent of fear and confusion in the air.

He feels his insides twist at the horrified faces on the teenagers, this is his fault. Everything started to escalate, and he should have ended it when he had the chance.

“I’ll deal with the damage,” Stiles tells Derek who gives him a nod before taking Peter out of the kitchen.

“What the fuck just happened?” Jackson is the first to break, “What was that? His face? It changed? What the fuck is he talking about Allison’s family like that?!”

“Stiles?” Lydia stares at him like he’s someone else and it makes Stiles flinch a little.

“We should probably sit down to have this talk.”

"I can—" Chris starts, but Stiles turns on his heel and points at him.

"You'll sit down and shut up because you are biased as fuck," Stiles tells him, and Chris clenches his jaw as he stares down the teen.

"And you're not?" Chris asks him in return.

"Maybe, but I'm not biased in the favour of rapists and family murderers," Stiles points out, and Chris gives a grudging nod as Stiles turns off the stove—dinner is ruined as far as Stiles can tell, but he doesn't think anyone is up to eating yet anyway. "Right, living room and comfort."

Allison gives an almost hysterical giggle at that as Stiles gently stirs them to the living room, and over to one of the couches before Stiles takes Peter's armchair while pointing Chris over to the loveseat.

"Right, right, so," Stiles clasps his hands together, before pulling them part and then steeping them together before finally putting them on his knees to tap against. "So, that was probably very shocking, a little frightening, and filled with information we probably shouldn't have overheard."

"No fucking shit," Jackson snorts shakily. "What the actual fuck, Stiles?"

"So, okay," Stiles taps his knee nervously. "Let's start off with the fact that werewolves are real."

The jazz hands probably weren't being appreciated at that moment, but he really couldn't help himself.

Chris snorts, but his input isn't needed nor wanted at the moment, so Stiles only spared him a short glare.

“ _That’s_ a fucking werewolf?” Lydia exclaims, looking at him with an expression almost akin to disbelief.

“It’s one of their shifts, it’s called a Beta shift. Peter is the Alpha of our pack—“

“Woah, woah— _our?_ Does that mean you’re a werewolf?” Jackson stares at him with a shocked look.

“Uh, no. I’m human, same old Stiles. But I’m in a Pack, the Hale Pack to be more exact. Anyways, so the Hale’s are a bunch of werewolves and the Argent’s are a family of werewolf hunters,” Stiles starts to explain, “I’m not sure how much Peter is comfortable with me telling you all this, but whatever. So the hunters have this thing called a Code, in which they only hunt werewolves that are a danger to humans. What a load of shit that is because they obviously don’t understand the meaning of having a Code.”

Chris opens his mouth to argue, but Stiles shuts him up with a daring look.

“Anyways, the Argent’s basically took the Code and said fuck you then let Kate, your psycho aunt, rape a thirteen-year-old boy so she could burn his entire family in their home. And leave Peter to be stuck in coma for six years, while torturing the man. Oh, and let’s add on the fact that one of you fuckers cut Derek’s dead sister in half like it was a funny joke,” Stiles glares at Chris, “Anything else I missed?”

"My aunt did _what_?" Allison demands in horror.

"We didn't do anything to Laura Hale," Chris denies, and Stiles scoffs.

"I did the timeline, dude," Stiles tells him. "You and your family move to Beacon Hills in December, probably after the Hunter-nurse, Jennifer, alerts your wife that Peter's getting better. He's now shifting, he's going out on the full moon, escaping the jail that his hospital is as often as he can, and he wants revenge for what happened for his family, which I understand.

So, you move here, set up a house, get Allison enrolled, and you wait, perhaps your wife or Jennifer or who fuck else you've brought with you decides to do something, send something to make Laura Hale to return.

And you all wait," Stiles keeps laying out the facts as he glares at Chris, "you wait until Laura comes and you wait to see what happens, probably hoping that Peter _does_ kill Laura, becomes a feral Alpha that attacks people and prime to be put down like a mad dog because that's what Hunters think of werewolves, don't they?"

"Oh my god," Allison says lowly as she covers her mouth as her eyes well with tears.

"Just after the New Year, Laura does come back because of whatever you sent her. She sticks around for a while, wanting to find out what's going on, and she meets Peter on one of his nightly walks.

And he's angry because she left him, she was meant to be his Alpha and she left him behind as if he was dead, left him behind to be tortured and _raped_ ," Stiles feels sick as he says the last word, but he keeps going, needs to hammer what happened into Chris. "He attacked, but he didn't think he'd really hurt her or kill her. He's been reduced to an Omega, and she was an Alpha with a Pack, but she didn't fight back for whatever reason, and she died.

He killed his niece and he needs to live with that, but he buried her, buried her in the Preserve the Hale's have ran through and protected for decades. But what happens the night of the full moon? Days later?”

“No,” Chris says with disbelief.

“Yes. One of your people decides it’ll be funny to take an already dead girl and chop her in half. String it up like it’s a full out murder, so Derek can come running back to the shit place where his entire family died,” Stiles seethes with anger, feeling like a vengeful spirit as he watches something break inside of Chris at those words.

He turns to the others and tells them, “That’s what’s been going on in this town. Werewolves being murdered by a gun crazy family who think they’re better than them.”

“I...I can’t believe this,” Allison says, staring down at the ground in horror. “Kate was my favorite aunt, I can’t believe she would do something so _horrible_.”

“Well, you better believe because that’s what fucking happened,” Stiles sits back down and crosses his arms over his chest. “Any questions?”

"Yes," Lydia leans forward and narrows her gaze on Stiles. "How and why did you get involved?"

 _Leave it to Lydia to break out the most difficult questions and make them sound so simple_ , Stiles thinks wryly, and he leans back in his chair.

"Would you believe it's just because Peter was my mom's best friend?" he asks her, and her green-eyes narrows more on him.

"I think that's why you're so invested, that's why you're so protective, but I don't believe that's what got you involved," Lydia tells him, and Stiles quirks his lips mirthlessly.

"You know me, I'm nosy and I can't keep my nose out of my dad's things," Stiles shrugs one shoulder. "I overheard the call that told my dad about the body, I thought I could help him."

"So, you went out searching for the body," Lydia finishes for him, before narrowing her eyes. "But you didn't go alone, Scott was with you."

"That's how he's winning," Jackson hisses as he leans forward. "He's a fucking _werewolf_ , I knew he was cheating!"

There's a beat as eyes turn to the blonde of the group with disbelief.

"My aunt is a _rapist_ and a murderer, my ex-boyfriend is a _werewolf_ , my dad is in love with another werewolf, and all you care about is that Scott is cheating at Lacrosse?" Allison asks in disbelief, and Jackson flushes.

"Scott's a _werewolf_?" Chris says darkly, and Stiles turns on him with a glare.

"Sit down, you've already shot him with a crossbow," Stiles informs firmly, and Allison turns to look at Chris in increasing disbelief.

"You _shot_ my boyfriend with a _crossbow_?" Allison demands before burying her face into her hands. "What is my life now?"

“I thought he was your ex?” Chris scratches at the back of his head.

“That’s not the point dad! He’s a teenager! Why would you shoot at a teenager!” she yells, standing up to move away from her own father.

“I was hunting what I thought was an Omega,” Chris puts his head in his hands.

“You mean, Derek. Obviously, you’ve been getting fed the wrong information because Derek was out there, making sure Scott didn’t shift on his first full moon and attack Allison. After we both told him not to go to the party because we knew he couldn’t handle it,” Stiles explains.

“So, let me get this straight. Scott got turned into a werewolf, Derek is a werewolf, the Argent’s are werewolf hunters, Allison’s aunt is a psychopath and not only that her mom is an evil bitch. Her dad is an emotional mess at the moment, and probably trying to get back with Peter who is a rape victim and also victim of abuse from his own family,” Lydia states.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Stiles scratches the back of his head as he tries to remember anything he’d missed.

“And you’re possibly not human.”

“Yes—hey wait! No, I’m human! Well...sort of?”

“Are you a werewolf too!?” Jackson pulls at his hair with this realization.

“No, no, no. I was supposed to be one, I let Peter give me the Bite but then I like didn’t turn.”

"You did what?" Chris demands as he stands up.

"He _bit_ you? And you asked for it?" Jackson asks incredulously.

"I'm surrounded by idiots," Lydia decides as she stares at Stiles in disbelief.

"Of course you asked for it," Allison groans into her hands and drops down on the couch.

"Hey! Possible feral Alpha werewolf running around town and going to kill everyone that is involved with the death of his family?" Stiles waves a hand. "Does that sound familiar? Peter was being overwhelmed by the Alpha power and going crazy with no Pack, Scott wouldn't respond to the Pack bond and is doing everything to repress being a werewolf, and Derek didn't want to admit Peter could be responsible for his sister's death. So, yeah, I went and confronted him and then asked for the Bite."

"I _really_ am surrounded by idiots," Lydia decides while massaging her temple.

"Of course you confronted him," Allison gives an almost crazed giggle into her hands.

"And he didn't _kill_ you?" Chris asks in disbelief, and Stiles glares up at Chris, feeling angry on behalf of his Alpha.

"Surprisingly, he didn't feel the need to show off his claws or teeth, or, I don't know, almost pull a gun on me," Stiles says bitingly, and Allison groans in dismay into her hands as Jackson's head snaps to Chris.

"You pulled a gun on Stiles?" Jackson growls in a mixture of disbelief and anger. "What the fuck?"

“I thought he was a werewolf! Peter was having a panic attack in his car and I was freaking out!” Chris argues.

“God, this is a fucking train wreck. Like one thing after another,” Lydia shakes her head.

“Dad, do I really have to kill werewolves?” Allison fidgets with her hands, worried of her father’s answer.

Even Stiles is sitting on the edge of his seat at that, staring at the older man with a look like he’s studying him.

“ _No_. No, sweetheart, you don’t have to do any of that. In fact, I think...I think maybe this should have happened earlier in my marriage than now. I’ve been thinking about leaving the family for a while, but I didn’t want to ruin your life by doing so. So I stayed because of you,” Chris tells his daughter, standing up to pull her into a hug.

“I always thought you and mom were going to get a divorce. You never said I loved you to her, and you guys usually slept in different rooms,” Allison mutters against his chest.

“You’re right. I don’t love your mom, I could never love a woman. I-I’m gay. And it’s one of the biggest things my dad always hated about me, and Kate attacked me for being,” Chris tells her, “I was ashamed of myself for so long, and then...and then I met Peter and he changed a lot about the way I think of myself and other things. But like everything else, my family ruined it.”

Stiles slumps back in his seat with a sigh of relief, that was one potential problem scrapped.

Though another potential problem if Victoria sees the destruction of her marriage as Peter's fault. She'll probably use the aid of the creepy and torturous inclined nurse that's his new school nurse, Stiles thinks as he chews on his thumb.

"I don't care that you're gay, _you're my dad_ ," Allison tells Chris as she hugs him tighter. "I would never care about something like that."

Chris slumps against her as he hugs her tighter, relief running through him.

It was the first time someone in his family had ever accepted him as being gay, it was the first time he hadn't been looked at in disgust or called him unnatural or faggot or other things like Kate did when she figured out why their father made little snide comments and used homophobic slurs against Chris, comments and slurs that Gerard had made since he caught Chris kissing a boy behind the fence of the house they lived in when Chris was twelve.

That was first true beating that Gerard ever gave him, trying to beat the gay out of him.

When it became obvious that no matter how hard Gerard beat him, no matter how many bones he broke or how many times Chris shat blood and coughed it up, the _gay_ wouldn't go away, well, Kate—little baby Katie—became Gerard's favourite.

And Kate, not even five-years-old when Gerard gave up on fifteen-year-old Chris, had gone from such a happy and bubbly thing to something unrecognisable and e _vil_ , and Chris can't help, but blame himself for what Kate became under Gerard's keen eye and torturous training.

It was Chris' fault, it was because Chris is gay and he couldn't hide it from Gerard that his baby sister was ruined and turned into a rapist murderer that almost killed Peter, the man Chris has been in love with since he was twenty-years-old, _did_ kill basically all his family and had _raped_ Peter's thirteen-year-old son.

“I feel like I’m in a teen drama show and this is the emotional episode that’s supposed to tear people’s hearts out,” Stiles comments as he watches Chris and Allison hug.

Lydia raises an eyebrow, “Doesn’t someone usually die in that episode?”

“ _Usually_. But this is real life, not a fanfiction, so I doubt anyone’s going to suddenly die,” Stiles shrugs.

“Thanks, you probably jinxed us with bad luck now,” Jackson rolls his eyes.

Pulling away, Chris pats his daughters shoulder before looking over to Stiles.

“Have you figured out what you are yet?” He asks the teenager.

“I have, but I’m not going to tell you,” Stiles crosses his arms and leans back against the chair.

“Stiles,” Allison stares at him.

“What? His family is a bunch of werewolf hunters, I’m not going to let him on any of the Pack’s secrets. I don’t care how good he is, I don’t trust him. Peter and Derek’s safety come before anyone else—well, actually my dad’s comes first,” Stiles corrects himself.

Chris snorts as he sits down on the loveseat and Allison sits next to him, still looking slightly awkward.

"At least you can be honest about _that_ ," Chris says dryly, and Stiles gives him a look.

"Oh, I'm _sorry_ , but I'm kind of attached to living," Stiles tells him equally as dry. "And your wife? And the creepy nurse now stationed in my school? Looks like they would willing kill me just for the knowledge I have, sorry if I don't agree with that desire."

"The school nurse?" Allison asks in disbelief, wondering just how many more bombshells she'll be hit with tonight.

"Yeah, she used to be Peter's nurse," Stiles tells the group grimly, and Lydia's lips firms.

"Peter's nurse? You mean the nurse that allowed people to torture him and took money to allow people to rape him?" Lydia asks with narrowed-eyes and a dark tone.

"Bingo," Stiles fires a single finger-gun in her direction. "She's already attempted to bully me into admitting I know about werewolves."

"I'm going to make every moment she's in our school a living hell," Lydia promises with a dark and dangerous look in her eyes.

"What happened to our old nurse?" Jackson asks, and Chris winces slightly as he knows nothing good happens to people that are in the way of a position that a Hunter wants.

" _That_ ," Stiles points at Chris, "tells me nothing good."

"Your people are horrible," Jackson tells Chris bluntly.

“We’re going to need a list of all the hunters in town,” Lydia says, looking down at her perfectly shaped nails.

“Uh, _we?_ No. Nononono. There is no we, you guys are in the know now but there is no we. You need to stay out of this, it’s dangerous and one of you could get hurt,” Stiles tells them.

“And what are you, Superman now? I don’t think so Stiles. We’re in this now, and we’re not leaving,” Jackson retorts, standing up and crossing his arms.

“He’s right, it is dangerous,” Derek says from the doorway, startling everyone as they hadn’t even noticed his presence. “This life is dangerous, you could get hurt, killed, tortured or kidnapped. Anything could happen and you won’t be able to tell anyone because this has to remain a secret to the entire world.”

He walks over to stand by Stiles, and rest a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder, glancing down to give him an encouraging look before looking back up at the teenagers.

“You either join the Pack or you stay silent about everything you learned today.”

"And Stiles is in the Pack, right?" Jackson demands as he looks at Derek. "He's going to be the thick of things, isn't he? He's Stiles, of course he is because he can't keep his nose out of anything and especially not when it comes to people he cares about."

"I feel strangely attacked by these very true words," Stiles mutters as he glares up at Jackson. "I hope there's a point to this."

"Of course there is, stupid," Jackson scoffs as he gives Stiles a look before turning to Derek. "I let someone drive me away from Stiles once, but I'm not letting it happen again."

"Jackson," Stiles interrupts seriously and stands up to look at Jackson. "Don't do this, if you are doing this out of some absurd sense of guilt—"

"You _were_ my best friend," Jackson reminds him sharply, and Stiles falls silent. "You were my best friend, and you didn't care how weird I acted sometimes or how clingy I could get. You accepted me, and then your mom got sick."

Stiles clenches his jaw as he listens, forcing himself not to look away from Jackson.

"And I _tried_ , okay? I tried to be there for you, but you kept pulling away and then McCall showed up, all puppy-dog eyes and a bright smile, the sweet kid with asthma, and he didn't know about your mom, not really, not like I did.

He didn't know how she baked cookies every Sunday," Jackson keeps going, feeling his eyes swell and Stiles blinks wetly. "He didn't know how she'd sing when she cooked, he didn't know how she's come up with stories we'd play out when it was raining, and we couldn't go out. He didn't know how she always made sure we got the Halloween costume we wanted even if it was considered a girl's costume, or how she'd made the best hot chocolate, or how when she smiled, it looked like she was beaming sunbeams because it was that bright."

" _Jackson_ ," Stiles scrubs at his eyes with his hand. "Shut up."

"He only knew her when she was sick," Jackson continues, because he kept quiet for too damn long.

“Dude, you’re gonna make me cry. Shut up,” Stiles punches Jackson’s shoulder weakly, which gets the other teenager laughing.

“Wuss,” Jackson smiles, wiping away the tears on his cheeks.

Derek almost wants to rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the envy his wolf feels that Jackson got to have that kind of friendship with Stiles.

He had only seen Stiles in passing as a child, when he didn’t know Peter was his real mom and had thought this human boy was taking his uncle’s attention from him.

He was selfish in wanting Peter’s attention but at the time his human side didn’t understand why he needed Peter’s attention. Only his wolf knew then that Peter was his real mother.

Now he knew why he had wanted them both, though he kept Stiles at an arm-length away because of his teenage angst and anger.

He wishes more than anything he could redo his childhood and get that warm, tender childhood friendship with Stiles.

But he won’t. And he’ll just have to make new memories with his mate now.

Peter steps out of his room not a moment later, the Alpha stares at the gaggle of teens in his living room and the way his son keeps glancing over at Stiles with these soft looks.

And then he looks at Chris, the man who his heart still mourns for and howls when he’s alone in his room. The man had grown so much since the last time he saw him, he looks rough around the edges, a little broken, and _tired_.

Peter should spit in his face and tell him to fuck off, but Chris’s heart never skipped when he told Peter he loved him.

The man looks up when he notices Peter in the room, and the smile on his face freezes.

Chris stands up, hesitating next to the loveseat as Peter properly enters the living room and looks at him quietly, and the teenagers in the room quieten too.

"You said you loved me," Peter says softly, his voice seeming too loud in the suddenly quiet room.

"I do," Chris tells him, not hesitating and with no doubt, and his heart stays steady in its rhythm, and he cautiously steps forward. "I do love you, I never stopped loving you."

"You left," Peter reminds him, flexing his hands at his side. "You left and it hurt so _fuckin_ g much."

"I'm sorry," Chris takes another step forward and then another with something almost hopeful when Peter doesn't stop him. "I'm so sorry, I didn't want to leave you. I never wanted to leave you, but I thought I was protecting you."

Heartbeat stays steady, and Peter can't help but glance down at Chris' chest.

"You didn't though," Peter points out. "Gerard lies, he's always lied—you told me that. And yet you believed him?"

Chris clenches his jaw, "I believed if I didn't, he's take you and he'd hurt you, and then he'd make you shift and cut you in half, and then gift-wrap your head for me."

Peter huffs out a breath through his nose, "Yeah, that sounds like something your father would do."

"I didn't know, Peter, I really didn't," Chris tells him. "I should have known, I should have made sure, but I didn't. You're right, I'm a coward and I was being a coward by not making sure you were alright."

Peter glances away, "I don't think I've been alright since I was eighteen."

Derek gives a whine at that making Peter look at his son with a soft expression and Stiles grips Derek's shoulder.

"And I should have seen that," Chris shakes his head and runs his hand over his mouth. "I did _see_ it. I knew something was wrong, something was different with you, but I just thought it was Talia."

"To be fair, you were half right," Peter tells him dryly making Chris give a huff.

"I should have realised, should have figured it out."

“Don’t think I’m suddenly going to forgive you,” Peter glares, but it’s soft even he knows it’s a contrast to how he glared at Chris earlier.

“I know. If you never want to forgive me again, I’d understand too. But just, please listen to me when I tell you you’re the most important person to me. I love you, I’ve always loved you,” he takes Peter’s hand, and his chest squeezes when the Alpha doesn’t pull his hand back. _“I love you.”_

“I don’t know if I can say those words back. Yet,” Peter admits, “I do... _feel_ something for you. But I’m not sure if it’s hate, anger or—or love. And jumping into something like this so soon is terrifying to me.”

“I—yes. You’re probably still dealing with a lot of issues, I don’t want to add on to them. I’m sure the last thing you’d like to see is me,” Chris pulls back, only stopping when Peter grabs his hand.

“I—“ Peter looks down, feeling the words choke in his throat and get stuck.

A part of him wants to admit he still loves him, the other part wants Chris on his knees and begging for him back. This man left him for seventeen years, left him in hell for six years, how could he forgive him so easily?

“I need to deal with some things first before we step further into...whatever this is. And you’re still married, I’m not going to be a home wrecker or some side whore for you.”

Peter had already done that once, had already been the whore on the side and Victoria had come to put him into his place.

"You're not a _whore_ ," Chris says fiercely as he squeezes Peter's hand, and Peter gives a bitter half-smile.

"Your wife made sure I knew I was just your whore," Peter tells him as he looks down to their joined hands, it had been over seventeen years since they last held hands, and Chris' hands were rougher, thicker with callouses, and yet it feels like yesterday that they were holding hands and _happy_.

"She lied to you," Chris says as he steps closer, wanting to pull Peter into his arms, but not wanting to push him too far and too soon.

Allison chews on her bottom lip as she watches the two men, feeling torn.

She's happy that her dad could finally be himself and tell her the truth, sad that her parent's marriage—loveless though it was—is finally ending, and unsure how to feel about the development of her dad and Peter's relationship.

She's happy for them, for having this chance again, and it's kind of beautiful that after seventeen years they still love each other, but it's weird to see her dad with someone else, to know that he's always loved someone else.

Allison thinks it's only now hitting her that she's was born due to an arranged marriage, that she was born because her grandfather couldn't accept who and what her father really was, that she was born due to her father having to leave the person he loved.

Sighing out of his nose, Peter glances over at Derek and then Allison, before looking at Jackson.

 _I already have one kid, what’s three more to the mix?_ Peter thinks to himself.

“I suppose I can handle adding two more kids to the mix,” Peter surmises, watching the teenagers while Chris keeps holding his hands.

“Wait—two?” Stiles jolts in his seat, “What do you mean by two?”

“Oops, did I forget to mention Jackson Whittemore is my biological son?” Peter smirks as he hears choking starting up from where Jackson is sitting.

“I’m you’re _what?!_ ” Jackson says with wide eyes, staring at the older man with a frazzled look.

“My son! And Allison, I guess if things go well with your father and I, will be my daughter. Well, other daughter,” Peter drags both teenagers into his arms, the two of them staring at him like he grew a second head, “And then I have my baby boy, Derek.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the nickname but walks over anyways to join in the hugging.

“You have more kids?!” Chris and Stiles yell at the same time.

“Did you never learn how to use a condom?” Lydia snarks from where she’s still seated.

Peter looks at her with a bitter edge to his dry expression, "I did, however some people decided they didn't need to wear one when raping me."

Lydia blanches slightly as Derek winces as he buries his face against his mother while Chris' jaw clenches at the reminder that Peter had been raped, multiple times, and he hadn't known anything about it.

"I'm a child of rape?" Jackson asks in a shaky voice as he resists the urge to bury himself against the man that claims to be his father.

"No, that's me," Derek tells him gruffly, bitterly.

"Pup," Peter sighs as he turns to nose at Derek's hair. "My sweet and sensitive pup."

Derek flushes slightly as he twists until he's hugging Peter's back and can burying his face against the side of his mother's neck.

"No, Jackson, what Maggie and I had was nothing like that," Peter reassures his youngest son. "She was kind, gentle, and when I met her, I needed that more than anything."

Jackson listens with an almost hungry expression on his face.

"Am I the only one still stuck on the two more kids?" Stiles asks the room at large. "Because I think that's important, like really important."

"I'm wondering why he's only now claiming Jackson as his, and what we have as proof beside his word," Lydia says as she crosses her arms, obviously protective over Jackson.

"I have siblings now?" Allison asks somewhat dazed as she glances towards her father.

Peter gives Lydia a raised eyebrow, this girl was smart and never seemed to miss a beat. But her suspicions were on the wrong side.

“If you think I’m only doing this to manipulate a teenage boy you’re wrong,” Peter crosses his arms over his chest, “I wasn’t even aware I had more kids until today because my very own, loving _sister_ decided to take my memories away from me. Not only that, but she decided to take _my pups_ and give them away for adoption, like they were some old clothes we were throwing out. And to put the _cherry_ on top of everything else, she and her little _druid_ decided it would be best to make me infertile. So any hopes of ever having a happy life and raising a child again are ruined.”

Lydia covers her mouth in shock, “I-I had no idea. I’m so sorry—“

“It’s alright, my dear. You didn’t know the extent of cruelty I went through while growing up. But if you need proof and me being the father I do have the Hale records.”

“The Hale records?” Stiles sits up with interest.

“Yes, as well as everything else in the Hale vault. I’ve decided that since I’m the Alpha, there were going to be some changes made around here. Starting with the location of the Hale vault,” Peter tells him, “Don’t worry, Stiles, you can get your chance at reading every single book I have on magic.”

“Magic?! Magic! Stiles can do magic!!” Allison’s eyebrows jumps to her hairline at that. “Magic is real?!”

“So you can believe in werewolves, but magic is too far of a reach?”

Allison blushes as she pulls away from Peter and twirls one curl around her finger, "It's just, well, it's magic, you know?"

"Trust me," Stiles tells her as he pats at the couch beside him. "I know."

Allison sits down beside him and clasps her hands together, playing with one of her rings, "Do you think I could read some of your books too?"

Chris almost looks pained at his daughter learning magic.

"They are Pack books," Peter reminds her, and Allison briefly chews her lip.

"But I'm basically your daughter now, right?" Allison straightens as she says that. "So, I'm already Pack."

"And with Jackson as your son, and with Stiles in the Pack, Jackson's Pack now because he wouldn't have left Stiles even if you hadn't said he was your son," Lydia points out as she squares her shoulders and looks almost defiantly up at Peter. "He's ridiculously loyal like that, even if he has funny ways of showing it at times, and where Jackson goes, I go."

"Is that so?" Peter says in amusement as he releases Jackson, the teen almost stumbling back to Lydia in a daze of new information.

"Yes," Lydia raises her chin proudly.

"I feel like I shouldn't just let this happen," Chris says dryly as he rubs at his temples.

Everyone’s eyes turn to stare at the older man, Derek frowning while Stiles gets this protective look on his face as he stands up to stand in between Derek and Peter.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles raises his chin up in defiance.

“Well, I mean—you’re all just teenagers. You need to know what you’re going to go up against if you join a Pack, it isn’t all fun and games, and sleepovers on Friday’s. Pack means you would die for each other, and it also means fighting with creatures of the night,” Chris explains, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at the kid.

“What, like vampires?” Jackson raises an eyebrow at the hunter.

“Actually, vampires are extinct. Have been since the early 1900s,” Peter says as in a matter-of-fact.

“Really? What about unicorns?”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure about that. The last recorded unicorn spotting was in the year 1867, in Scotland. They might have gone into hiding, it happens sometimes when hunters get a little too trigger happy,” Peter scratches at his chin as he tells Lydia this.

“Do I _have_ to become a werewolf to be in a pack?” Jackson asks next.

Peter laughs at that, “Of course, not! Pack is whoever you want it to be, werewolf, human, witch or whatever.”

"And if I wanted to become a werewolf?" Jackson asks, and Lydia's hand snaps out and grabs his arm.

"Then we'll find out everything we need to know and if it's the right decision," Lydia says sharply as she digs in her sharp nails into Jackson making the other teen wince. "You're not making such a life changing decision just because you are sick of Scott McCall beating you in Lacrosse."

Jackson splutters, but doesn't actually protest her point.

"Anyway, at the moment our biggest threat is from your lot," Stiles points out as he nods at Chris. "Peter's back to his normal crazy self instead of murderous revenge obsessed feral self."

"Thank you for putting it that way, Stiles," Peter says dryly making Stiles grin at him.

"That's for now," Chris sighs as he rubs a hand over his mouth. "But when others find out the Hale Pack is back? That the Pack is made up of _children_? That the Alpha is _Peter Hale_? There will challengers coming to try and claim Beacon Hills."

"You think I would let anything happen to them?" Peter asks in an offended tone, drawing himself up, and Chris looks at him almost sadly.

"I know you won't," Chris tells him softly. "And I'm afraid that will get you killed. Peter, this is the closest I've come to getting you back in over seventeen years, I don't want to lose you again so soon."

Peter softens as he looks at Chris, "I'm not that easy to kill, you know that."

"You haven't fully recovered, it's been six years and you're not at full strength yet," Chris points out with some frustration. "Six years is a long time, Peter, a long time for skills to go rusty, and all it'll take is a lucky shot, and then you're gone—and this time, I wouldn't be able to get you back."

“I’m not weak,” Peter snarls, feeling like an animal being backed into a corner. “I can still fight.”

“I know you can, but you’ve also been in coma for the last six years and tortured,” Chris tells him, “You should work on getting your strength back and get mentally better. Earlier you almost had a freak out over us arguing, imagine if you couldn’t control yourself and attacked an innocent person.”

Turning his head away, Peter growls under his breath, knowing that Chris was right.

“Fine. Then what do you _suggest_?”

“We should try to keep as quiet as possible with the pack until you get you’re strength back. And you’ve trained the new wolves on how to control themselves and fight,” Chris tells him, coming closer to set a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll protect you as best as I can from Victoria and my sister, but I can’t guarantee others won’t come once they find out you’re awake.”

Stiles still holds his own judgement against Chris, but he can’t help but give a nod to the man’s way. His plan is smart, they aren’t as strong as they should be to deal with these kind of issues.

“Is anyone else hungry after all this?” Stiles asks, earning a snort from Derek. “What I get hungry when after having an argument.”

“I think you probably bumped you’re head too hard,” Derek tells him.

"No, he's always like been like this," Jackson snorts. "The amount of cookies he would go through whenever we had a fight was unbelievable, sometimes I thought he picked a fight just to eat the cookies."

"Hey, Mom's cookies were kick-ass," Stiles points out, and Jackson nods in agreement.

"My mom's are better," Derek says loyally making Peter look at him with a soft smile.

"Okay, I got to ask," Jackson leans forward making Lydia wince slightly, wondering what he'll end up asking and how offensive it could be considered. "Why do you call Peter Mom? Isn't he your dad?"

" _Excuse me_ ," Peter crosses his arms over his chest and there was a hip cock that Stiles recognised from whenever his mom got annoyed at his dad for something and wanted to put him in his place. "But as I carried him for nine months and birthed him then I reserve the right to be called Mom."

"Wait," Jackson gapes slightly. "You carried him? As in you were _pregnant_?"

"Yes," Peter nods easily.

"Transgender?" Lydia asks curiously as she scans Peter as if searching for some sign for how it was possible.

"No," Peter answers somewhat amused.

"Magic?" Allison asks as she tries to wrap her mind around the fact male werewolves could apparently get pregnant.

"Basically," Peter agrees with amusement, taking some delight in the expressions crossing the teenagers' faces.

"Does this mean Derek is an _ass baby_?" Jackson asks, and Derek groans as he turns away from them while Stiles snickers. "Wait, does this mean _I'm_ an ass baby?"

"He just talked about your mother," Lydia almost groans as she rubs her temple. "You're not an ass baby."

"Why is everyone obsessed with me being an ass baby?!" Derek demands making Stiles lean against Allison with another snicker and Peter snorts making Derek give them angry looks before turning away and stomping towards the kitchen. "I'm going to order food!"

"But I can cook!" Peter protests and Stiles winces slightly.

"The food from before is slightly ruined?"

Peter grumbles and crosses his arms, “It’s not my fault someone had to bring up some emotional stuff.”

Stiles huffs at the man, “Does someone need a hug?”

“No....maybe...” Peter sends a glare his way which has Stiles laughing.

“Come here, big bad,” Stiles says the nickname lightly as he pulls Peter into a hug.

Jackson shuffles a little closer like he’s trying to act like he also doesn’t want to get in on the hug fast, and Stiles rolls his eyes before opening his arm and pull him into a hug as well.

Lydia hums as she watches the three men hug, “Hmm, yeah, I can see the relation to Peter and Jackson now. They’re both needy.”

“I am _not needy!_ ” Jackson argues, which gets an eye roll from the redhead.

“Uh-huh, weren’t you the one asking for me to use the strap-on last night?”

Allison giggles at the look Jackson gives Lydia, one of betrayal and embarrassed anger. Peter just snickers a little to himself.

“Oh yes, you definitely are my son,” Peter smirks, running his fingers through Jackson’s hair so he can rub his scent all over his son.

“Does this mean I have two dads?”

“No,” Peter gets a dark look that quickly crosses over his face, “I’d prefer it if you called me your mother.”

Jackson chews the inside of his lips before nodding, "It's a bit weird, but sure."

Jackson leans against Peter, breathing in like he's trying to get Peter's scent and imprint it in his mind which makes Peter smile a bit at the very wolfish trait.

"I didn't think I would ever meet either of my real parents," Jackson admits quietly, remembering being nine and finding out the truth.

He also remembers Stiles offering to find what he could about Jackson's birth parents if he wanted, and Noah catching Stiles going through his files and trying to use his login to get information.

Jackson's lips twitch, Stiles had never let anything stop him from helping a friend with his research ability. The only thing that stopped Stiles from finding them? Noah physically picking the older boy up, locking and adding two more locks when Stiles learnt to pick the first lock.

"If it's alright, I'd like to look at the Hale's Record Book," Lydia says, wanting to see the proof in black and white for herself, and she'd also like to see the name of Peter's other kid.

"Wait," Stiles pulls back with a frown as if Lydia just reminded him about something. "You said another daughter earlier, which means you have a daughter. What's her name? Maybe I know her?"

"Malia Tate," Peter answers and Stiles pulls away from the hug completely as he looks at Peter, and Peter grimaces slightly. "Corrine's and my relationship wasn't the best, and it certainly nothing like what I had with Maggie."

Peter finally seems to notice Stiles’ distance and the look on his face as he frowns in confusion and concern, "Stiles?"

"I-I need to message my dad," Stiles says as he turns away while pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Stiles?" Peter asks in some alarm, tightening his hold on Jackson and Derek appears in the archway to the kitchen with a concerned look. "Stiles, what's wrong? Stiles, what happened to my daughter?"

“There was a crash, that happened years back. A car crash. They found the mother and one of the daughter’s bodies, but...Peter, Malia Tate had been missing since she was six years old. Possibly dead,” Stiles tells the Alpha, his phone clasped tightly in his hands as he waits for the man’s response.

Peter looks down at the floor, and then out the window, “I see...”

“There’s a possibility of her still being alive, maybe just lost? Nobody has found her body, so it’s not hopeless,” Stiles tries to brighten up the situation.

Peter tugs at his hair and nods his head, “Right, right...I should talk to your dad about the case, see if we can find anything supernatural about it. Or if there’s any clue to where she might be.”

Jackson squeezes the Alpha’s shoulder and tilts his head, so it rests on his shoulder, silently comforting the man in a way he did a lot as a child.

Peter turns to bury his nose against Jackson's hair and scents his youngest son.

"Uh, could you order enough for my dad too, Derek?" Stiles asks as he pulls his phone out and tapping in a quick message to his dad.

**User: Hey, so, quick question, can you bring the Tate case-file over to Peter's?**

**Daddio: Do I want to know? Will there be food?**

**User: Of course there's food! Derek's ordering....something. So, turns out the missing daughter? Malia? Well, she's Peter's daughter.**

**Daddio: I'm not going to like how he just found out about this, am I?**

Stiles glances at Peter nuzzling against Jackson, remembers the way Peter explained how he found out, and grimaces.

**User: No, no you will not.**

**Daddio: Anymore surprises I need to be aware of?**

Stiles stares at his phone and chews his lip, trying figure out how to explain everything.

**Daddio: Never mind, I'll find out.**

Blowing air out of his nose, Stiles sits back down on the couch where Lydia and Allison are seated.

The two of them quietly thinking about everything that’s happened today while Stiles watches the way Chris stares at Peter like he’s something important.

Jackson twists his shirt in his hands and then turns to look at Peter, “Can we talk. Somewhere a little more private?”

“Of course,” Peter stands up and leads Jackson to the upstairs part of his apartment, in an area that’s like a library with a few leather couches seated around. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I know you said you’re my biological father—mother, whatever. But I just wanted to say you’re not my real mom, well—I mean—shit.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” Peter sits down, feeling his heart clench a little at what Jackson might possibly be trying to say.

“You’re my birth parent, and I understand that due to shitty circumstances you couldn’t keep me, even though you wanted to. But the people who adopted me, those are my real parents they’re the ones who raised me. And I know if you could, you would have done it yourself, but things happened, and I still see you as my mom. But I just wanted you to know they’re always going to be my parents first.”

“Oh, pup. I wasn’t trying to take you away from your parents,” Peter gets up and moves so he can sit down next to Jackson, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “You’re just as much as my son as you are theirs. They raised to you to be the smart young man you are, and I will be grateful they gave you a happy childhood.”

"Yeah," Jackson looks down at his hands, his chest feeling tight and funny. "Yeah, they did and I've, shit, fuck, I've been a real dick to them."

A real dick to them for years, all because he found out he was adopted, and he couldn't cope with it.

Of course, of course finding his birth parent makes him realise that they are his real parents after all.

"I'm sure they'll understand," Peter squeezes Jackson's shoulder, pulling his son close. "They're your parents, they'll understand things have been difficult for you."

"Really?" Jackson glances up at him, and Peter nods his head.

"Of course," Peter reassures him, smiling at his youngest son. "I won't ever take their place, I won't take you away from them especially when it isn't what you want. I just, I just hope I can be part of your life."

"You're my mom now, and my Alpha so you're stuck with me," Jackson flashes him a smirk, and Peter smirks back before Jackson looks around with some awe. "Lydia will have a heart-attack if she finds out you've hidden this up here."

"Lydia?" Peter snorts. "I'm worried about Stiles. He's already testy about bedtime as it is, knowing I have all _this_? I'll have to physically carry him to bed."

"You've given him a _bedtime_?" Jackson grins and snickers slightly. "Oh, that's priceless."

"If you stay over at any time, you'll be getting the same bedtime young man," Peter says in a teasingly stern face and grins at the outrage on Jackson's face—Derek makes almost the exact same face whenever Peter mentions it's bedtime.

Chuckling a little to himself at Jackson’s face, and then stands up to give him another hug.

Peter tilts his head when he hears a knock at the door, “Ah, that must be the delivery person.”

“Guess we should go down there before everyone eats it all,” Jackson smiles, feeling comfortable around the older man to do so.

“Of course.”

* * *

Stiles is already at Derek’s back while he answers the door and gets the five boxes or so large pizza he ordered, bouncing up and down a little bit in his excitement at the smell of hot food which has the older man snorting.

“You’re like a puppy,” Derek teases, running his hand over Stiles’ buzzcut as they walk into the living room together.

“If I’m a good boy does that mean I get the first slice?” Stiles teases back, watching in amazement as Derek’s cheeks start to blush.

Derek coughs as he turns his face away, and Lydia leans back on the couch as she crosses her leg.

"The competition has it bad," Lydia muses almost to herself, eyes narrowed, and Derek throws her a look as he stacks the boxes on the coffee-table.

"Stiles, could you get the plates?" Derek asks without looking away from Lydia.

"Sure?" Stiles glances between them confusedly, but turns to walk into the kitchen.

"I'll help you," Allison says brightly after a nudge from Lydia, and jumps up to follow Stiles after collecting the boxes.

Chris leans back on the loveseat and rests his chin on his fist when Lydia gives him a look making the young teen huff before turning to Derek.

"So, you want to talk with me?" Lydia asks in a poisonous sweet tone that makes Derek want to cringe.

"The thing you and Jackson are doing," Derek begins, and Lydia smiles.

"You mean the thing where we're trying to _date_ Stiles?" Lydia asks somewhat sharply, and Derek scowls.

" _Date?_ You've only talked about getting him into bed so far," Derek points out gruffly and crossing his arms defensively over his chest, and Lydia tilts her head with a wider smile.

"Something I know he'll enjoy very much," Lydia informs him brightly and almost smugly. "Jackson is _very_ good with his mouth, and he loves to be fucked hard with a strap-on, the bigger the better. Seeing Stiles' impressive equipment, I know now why Jackson loves to ride my bigger strap-on after lacrosse practise."

Chris coughs into his hand, moving his hand to cover his mouth as he smirks while Derek flushes slightly.

“It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it,” Lydia flips her hair.

Chris tenses a little at those words, watching as Derek’s eyes burn electric blue.

“I’m not doing anything because he’s still underage, and I’m not a shitty enough person to touch a minor,” Derek snarls, trying to keep his anger down but his wolf is raging and thrashing inside of him. “I suggest you back off.”

“Hm,” Lydia says, not fazed by the whole thing. “We’ll see about that.”

Before Derek can say anything else, Stiles is coming back in and handing him a plate with some pizza.

“Here, I got you a slice,” he smiles at the older man, cheeks turning red a little bit.

“Thanks, Stiles,” Derek puts an arm over his shoulder, and leads them over to sit at the love seat.

"No problem," Stiles smiles up at him as they sit down and turns to his pizza.

Lydia huffs as Allison comes back in with two plates with pizza, "Dad? Do you want to get your own or what?"

Chris glances between where Lydia is picking at her pizza and where Derek is determinedly focusing solely on Stiles before he replies, "I'll get my own, sweetie."

Derek tenses, a shiver going down his spine at that nickname, and Chris moves to the kitchen as Peter and Jackson enter the living room.

"Why do I feel like I've missed a spot of drama?" Peter asks while looking somewhat disappointed then his face looks almost disapproving as he looks at the pizza. "Pizza, Derek? Take-out Pizza when I've already shown myself vastly superior at pizza making."

"It's comes quickly and it's filling," Derek defends his choice making Peter shake his head.

"Just when I thought I could finally properly taste your cooking," Lydia sighs as she lifts her pizza to her mouth. "Ruined because Mr Argent upset the chef."

“Hmmm, one day, you’ll have a taste of what real fine dining is,” Peter smirks, as he takes a seat on the empty spot Chris was at, his wolf inhaling the man’s scent a little bit before relaxing against the leather.

Jackson sends a glare at Derek’s way because he’s sitting next to Stiles, an arm around him and cuddled up against the teenager.

Huffing, he grabs himself a slice of pizza and settles next to Lydia, with Allison on Lydia’s other side, glaring at the older man while he angrily chews on his slice.

Chris walks in and stares at the only seat available right next to Peter.

Swallowing, Chris takes a few steps forward and then the rest until he’s sitting next to the other man. A foot of space between them as he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries and get all over Peter’s space without his consent.

Peter holds back on a whine when his _mate_ sits next to him, _so_ close and yet so out of reach.

 _We want him_ , his wolf growls, _we want him now!_

Peter shakes his head and reminds his wolf that Chris also broke his heart into shatters.

His wolf was a simple beast though, all the wolf cared about is the fact that their mate is next to them, so damn close and yet so far away, and the need to reclaim him, to mix their scents together and imprint their mingled scent in the Den.

Peter is impressed that Derek is able to content himself to scenting and innocent cuddling with Stiles when Peter already wants to straddle Chris and fuck him, to remember how Chris' cock felt in him and for Peter to bite him properly this time, to bite where his mating-gland would lay if Chris was a werewolf.

His wolf is urging him on, making him thicken in his jeans and making him want to clench down needily, and his wolf doesn't care about the ring on Chris' finger, the wife that threatened to kill Peter in a brutal way if she found out he had ever been with Chris again, and it's almost hard to focus on eating when his wolf is howling and thrashing in his head to press against Chris, to greedily breath in his scent and then making Chris smell of Peter and sex.

* * *

Derek stills as he tilts his head and inhales sharply, the scent of lust and Alpha makes his wolf yip happily and want to make his mate smell of them and sex, and yet part of him wants to wrinkle his nose slightly because that's _his mom!_

His wolf didn't care, he took those scents to mean that Alpha is mated and wants to mate, and thinks it's the perfect time to mate with Stiles, and Derek shudders because he can't, he can't do that.

Stiles is a minor, he'll only hurt him, he can't, but the wolf doesn't see the law, the wolf only sees their unclaimed mate, a mate that others desire as their own.

"Derek?" Stiles asks in concern, placing his plate to the side as he reaches out to touch Derek's shoulder, and Derek feels a stir of panic as he stares at the approaching hand because he thinks if Stiles touches him now then his control may snap.

He swallows and freezes when Stiles’ hand lands on his shoulder, feeling like he needs to flinch and run or lean into the touch.

“You okay there, Sourwolf?” Stiles smiles up at him, a little bit of pizza sauce smeared on one side of his mouth.

Derek just wants to lean in and lick at that sauce, lick at Stiles’ lips and then kiss him until his cheeks are flushed and he’s panting for air.

But he doesn’t, he bites on the inside of his cheek until there’s blood in his mouth.

“I’m fine,” he lies uneasily, “I just got lost in thought. I-I need to go to the bathroom real quick.”

Setting his plate down as well, Derek leaves the room quickly.

Putting a hand over his nose as he passes by Chris and his mom, his cock twitches at the smell of arousal in the air and he quickens his pace until he’s finally locked himself in the bathroom.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Derek curses as he slips down the wall and tries to control his breathing.

Derek leans back against the wall as he breathes, tries to ignore the scent of arousal that feels like it's stinging his nose, and tries to ignore the desperate whining of his wolf.

Derek doesn't dare close his eyes because he knows, _he knows_ , what he'll see, what his wolf will shove to the forefront of his mind the moment Derek displays weakness.

Derek digs his claws into his legs and keeps taking deep breaths, and he ignores the whine that his wolf keeps giving off.

 _Mate! He needs to be claimed!_ his wolf tells him, whining desperately as his wolf reminds him how perfect and right it felt like to hold Stiles. _We need to claim him!_

 _I can't!_ Derek mentally shouts back, digging his claws deeper into his legs.

He can't, he can't become like _her_ , he can't become like _his father_. He can't give in, he _can't._

He's too greedy, he'll take and take until Stiles is hollowed out, his smiles brittle and false, his words not flavoured by his own special wit and brightness, the life gone from his amber eyes, and he'll keep taking because that's what he does, isn't it?

_"Why are you so greedy, Derek?"_

_"Share, Derek, stop being so greedy."_

_"Don't be greedy, Derek."_

Derek slams his eyes closed as he bashes his head back against the wall as Talia's voice fills his ears, the familiar tone of disappointment, disapproval and yet no surprise as if she expected nothing less from him.

Derek desperately shoves the voice away. Talia's dead, she's gone and can't look at him like that anymore, he has his real mom now and Peter loves him, Peter wants him to be more selfish, Peter thinks he isn't greedy enough.

Then it gets worse because suddenly he hears _her_ giggle, and he feels so cold suddenly, can almost feel _her_ hands on him, and he digs his claws in deeper, the blood ruining his pants as he tries to anchor himself to the now and not back then, not _her_.

_"You want more, sweetie? So greedy for more."_

That special tone of _hers_ makes him shudder.

“No, no, no. She’s not here. I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m not going to hurt him,” Derek whimpers as he tugs at his hair with his hands. “Fuck, fuck— _fuck_.”

“Derek?”

He freezes when he hears Stiles knock on the door, and his voice break through the panic.

_Mate? Mate had come to us? Yes. Yes. We want mate! Want him!_

“I’m _fine_ , Stiles,” Derek growls through his teeth, eyes turning blue as he tries not to snap at the younger teenager.

“Sure you are,” Stiles opens the door, and closes it when he steps inside, “And I’ve never had a panic attack before.”

Derek looks up at that, hearing the truth in Stiles’ heart beat and wondering what had happened to the boy.

He watches as Stiles sits down next to him, the boy makes a noise in the back of his throat and tenderly holds Derek’s bloodied hand in his own.

“Derek, what did you do?”

“I’m sorry,” he pulls his hands back, not wanting to tarnish the beauty that is Stiles. “I-I—“

“Hey—no, no. It’s okay, there’s no reason to apologize.”

Derek shakes his head and clenches his jaw as Stiles looks over his hands before looking down at his legs.

"Did you dig your claws into your legs?" Stiles asks before getting up and getting a cloth, wetting it under the tap and moving back to Derek, sitting down in front of Derek and begins to careful clean Derek's hands.

"You don't have to do this," Derek tells him gruffly, wanting yank his hands away before he accidentally hurts Stiles in some way.

"I know, and yet I am," Stiles looks up at him from his lashes, the amber almost appearing gold in the bright light of the bathroom. "So, suck it up, Sourwolf."

 _Mate cares, mate cares for us_ , his wolf tells him, and Derek clenches his jaw and looks away before his wolf could urge him to do something stupid.

There's quiet between them, tense on Derek's side and carefully calm on Stiles' side as Stiles wipes the blood from his hands.

"Well, you've ruined your pants," Stiles declares as he finishes wiping the last of the blood from Derek's hands. "And I don't know how much blood is on your legs until you take them off—"

Stiles cuts himself off with a slightly strangled sound as Derek silently undoes his jeans and rolls them down his legs and kicks them off and towards the side.

"Right, I-I'll clean the rest of you up then," Stiles clears his throat and looks slightly flustered as he leans over and begins to wipe the blood off his legs.

 _I didn't think this through_ , Derek realises with a surge of panic as Stiles leans close enough for his scent to surround Derek and the younger teen wipes the cloth against Derek's thigh.

Derek is breathing through his mouth, not wanting to inhale Stiles’ scent fully. Not that it helps. It’s almost like he can _taste_ the way his mate smells and it pulls him, _tugs_ on some kind of rope inside of him to lean forward and _bite_.

He grunts when a hand settles on his thigh, and Derek stares at Stiles’ pale hand and where it’s settled on top of his thigh, slightly wrapped around it, and Derek drools at the sight, his legs are muscular and hairy, with thick corded muscles like metal cords, and then there’s Stiles’ pale, mole-dotted beautiful hand wrapped around his thigh, gently like he’s afraid of hurting him or bruising his skin.

“Hold on, I just need to wash this— _oh shit!_ ” Stiles yelps as he slips.

It’s almost like a scene out of a movie when everything slows down just for a moment before speeding up.

One second their faces are close to one another that they could just lean in and kiss, and the next Stiles is face planting right on Derek’s leaking erection.

His wolf howls with joy and Derek claws at his thighs again to hold back the urge from coming.

 _FUCK!! FUCK! FUCK! OH SHIT!_ Stiles panics as he scrambles to push himself up and then stare at Derek with wide eyes.

It's too much, Derek breaks and he can only hope that he doesn't break Stiles.

Stiles barely squeaks as Derek grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him into a kiss.

 _His lips are really soft_ , Stiles thinks dazedly as Derek groans against him as they kiss, despite the almost violent way Derek pull him into the kiss, it was surprisingly gentle and even nervous before Derek pulls away with a gasp.

The only reason Stiles doesn't chase Derek's lips and keep kissing him is because of the almost terrified look on Derek's face as he pushes himself against the wall.

"Derek?" Stiles asks, his voice sounding small and filled with hesitation as Derek stares at him with wide-eyes.

"I-I can't do this," Derek tells him and Stiles can almost feel his face fall as his heart sinks, and Derek visibly panics. "No! No, don't. Stiles, _Stiles_."

The way Derek cups his face, the agonised way Derek says Stiles name makes him still, stops Stiles from pulling away and running like a coward.

"It's not like that, it's _not_.." Derek says lowly, fiercely, and he closes his eyes with such a pained look on his face that Stiles hurt in sympathy. "I want you, fuck, I _want_ you."

It should make Stiles happy, it should relieve Stiles that the person he has a crush on wants him too, but how could it? How could Stiles be happy when Derek looks so pained by his admission?

"But," Stiles prompts for Derek because there's a but coming, a massive but, and Derek opens his eyes slowly.

"But I _can't_ ," Derek tells him grimly, dropping his gaze. "You're a _minor_."

Stiles opens his mouth, about to argue about that he's only a minor for a few more months and what's a few more months really? That gives them plenty of time to date and kiss, and it's not like Stiles is expecting sex right away and he'd be willing to wait. But then Derek continues:

"And I'm not ready," Derek admits in an ashamed tone, his head ducking as if embarrassed, and Stiles closes his mouth, his argument gone.

“I—you already know about Kate. So you know I’m fucked up, I just—I’m afraid of letting myself have something I want without destroying it,” Derek admits, looking down at his hands as he tells Stiles this all. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. I know you won’t. You’re a good person, Derek,” Stiles tells him, sitting closer next to Derek.

 _Everyone keeps telling me that, and yet, it’s still hard to believe them_ , Derek thinks as he watches Stiles hold his hand out for him.

It’s like a promise, or Stiles’ way of showing he accepts Derek’s choice and yet is still holding out for the traumatized older man.

Reaching his hand out, Derek laces their fingers together and feels something settle inside of him.

“I don’t know how long it’ll be until I’m ready for that next step,” he says honestly, “And I don’t want to hold you back from doing something you want. You should enjoy being a teenager and having all the fun you can have.”

“But...what if I want to _wait?_ What if I don’t want anyone else but you?” Stiles admits and it makes something strain and tug inside of Derek’s chest.

“Why? You’ve only met me for a few weeks, we barely know each other that well. What could I possibly have that makes you interested in me?”

“Well let’s see, smart, kind, selfless, cute bunny teeth, snarky attitude. Doesn’t think he deserves anything good but actually really does. Hmm, what else am I forgetting? Oh, likes to read, deals with my shit and also the fact I have a motormouth. You tell me to shut up, but you don’t really mean it in a harsh way. And you’re just...you’re something I want in my life, not as a summer fling or something fast and quick. But you’re what I want.”

Derek gives a whine as he slides until he rests against Stiles' shoulder, staring at their linked hands in some wonder.

"I want you, Derek, not anyone else," Stiles continues.

"But what about Jackson and _Lydia_?" Derek asks, an added twist to Lydia's name that makes Stiles curious and kind of wants him not to ask because it's about _Lydia_.

Stiles chews on his lips for a moment, trying to put his thought in order and make sure it comes out right.

"You know I used to have this massive crush on Lydia?" Stiles questions softly making Derek stiffen and tighten his grip on Stiles' hand. "She was smart and pretty, and could be really mean, and I liked that about her. I was obvious about it, horribly obvious."

"Is there a point to this?" Derek asks almost stiffly, and Stiles glances over.

"I'm getting there," Stiles tells him and squeezes Derek's hand. "Then I was in the Preserve, and trying to find this inhaler when this incredibly hot guy showed up and made me realise my bi awakening. But then I really met you, and you were kind of a dick which wasn't a turn-off, but it kind of seemed we were on the opposite sides despite us both trying to do the same thing.

And then, I got you arrested, which was an asshole move, and well, I finally got to know you as _you_ instead of this mask you kept up."

Stiles chews on his lips again as he glances to where Derek's slumped against him.

"And what did I find? I found you were all the things I just listed off, and my crush on Lydia? It seems so—so shallow compared to what I'm feeling for you," Stiles continues as Derek's hand flexes in his and squeezes it. "So, I'll wait for you, for however long you need. Lydia and Jackson's offer? I'll admit to be being flattered and at time horribly aroused, but I won't do anything because they aren't who I want. I _want_ you."

"You shouldn't," Derek tells him roughly. "I'm no good."

"I don't believe that," Stiles tells him immediately. "And it's tough, I've decided on you."

“You’re going to regret that. Choosing me,” Derek says honestly.

“I won’t.”

“I’m broken.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you,” Stiles takes Derek’s face in his hand, staring up at the man before leaning forward to rest their foreheads together in the silence of the bathroom.

It feels safe. In here, right now with Derek, like there’s a little bubble around them keeping them safe from the horrors and anguish of the real world.

Derek feels like he could tell Stiles everything, every doubt, every nightmare, the fears and anxiety. And he wants to, God does he want to, but the words get stuck in his throat and it feels like he’s choking for just a moment.

“If you just want to hold hands, that’s fine with me. If you’re not ready to kiss yet, that’s fine with me I can wait. I’m surprisingly patient for a teenager with ADHD,” Stiles jokes.

 _But how long are you willing to wait?_ Derek doesn’t ask. _What if you find something better than me and decide waiting isn’t enough, and you go chasing after that?_

Maybe....just maybe, he can be selfish for a moment, take this treasured moment he has with Stiles and hold it in his arms until it starts to suffocate.

“We can hold hands. I-I like that.”

"Good, that's great," Stiles smiles at him. "Holding hands is nice, good enough. You have nice hands, very big and warm, and surprisingly soft."

Derek snorts as he leans his head against the wall and watches Stiles bring their hands up to look at them.

"I suppose your healing factor deals with callouses before they can properly form?" Stiles asks as he rubs his thumb along Derek's as he drops their hands back to rest on Derek's thigh. "That must make string instruments horrible to play, no callouses to protect you from the strings."

"I never really thought about it," Derek admits as he watches Stiles with something that feel suspiciously close to contentment despite the anxiety stewing in his stomach.

"Yeah, I suppose not, my brain goes odd places when I notice things," Stiles shrugs before looking down at their hands. "We—we're something, aren't we?"

Derek has to clear his throat before he can reply, his heart both clenching and warming as he looks down at their joined hands, "Yeah, we're something."

Stiles nods almost thoughtfully as he chews on his lips for a moment, "Then I hope you don't mind if I say I'm seeing someone if anyone asks."

Derek flushes, ducking his head as his wolf nearly yips in joy, and his voice is gruffier that he means it when he speaks, "I-I'd like that."

"Good," Stiles presses their shoulders together. "We'll go at your pace, okay? We'll do whatever you’re comfortable with and want."

Derek nods, his throat tight, and his words get tangled on his tongue.

Derek didn't know how to explain that what Derek wants is very different from what Derek is comfortable with, and that he fears he'll push too far in getting what he wants, that he'll turn into _her_ or _his dad._

He also doesn't know how to explain that he doesn't know what he's doing, that he's never been in a proper and real relationship, that he's closest experience was with _her_ and a few study or movie 'dates' with Paige, and that he's afraid he'll screw it all up.

“Do you think they’re asking about what we’re doing in here?” Stiles teases.

Derek tilts his head to the to listen out in case he hears anything, but the conversation has been steered around to what it’s like being in a Pack, and becoming a werewolf.

He shakes his head, “No, Peter’s the only one who can hear us, and I doubt he’d actually listen in unless our heartbeats get too fast.”

“Too fast?”

“Like if one of us were having a panic attack. He’d be able to hear it and probably come over to check out what’s going on,” he explains further.

“That’s pretty handy,” Stiles looks back down at their hands, and then gives it a tug. “Come on, let’s go back and finish our pizza. Unless you need a moment to yourself.”

Shaking his head, Derek stands up and grabs his jeans, blushing when he remembers how this whole thing started.

Pulling on his jeans again, Derek ignores the tears in them as he motions for Stiles to lead the way.

* * *

He stops them both before they enter the living room, and pulls Stiles in for another hug, wanting to rub some more of his scent on the teenager before letting him go and then following him back over to the loveseat, ignoring the glare Jackson sends his way.

Stiles hands him his plate before picking up his own and Stiles bites into his somewhat cold pizza.

"Are you alright, pup?" Peter asks softly, his voice pitched so only Derek can hear, and Derek nods slightly at his mom before grabbing one of his slices of pizza.

Derek can't help the half smile that twitches his lips as Stiles leans against his shoulder while eating his pizza.

Stiles is barely half way through his second slice of pizza when a knock comes to the door, and Stiles glances at Peter.

"Your father's here," Peter tells him before standing and brushing off his hands. "Carry on eating, I'll get it."

Peter walks towards the door and takes a deep breath before he moves to unlock and open the door.

Noah held the knowledge of what happened to his daughter, to his youngest child, and Peter needs to know, needs to look for her.

She was a baby, lost and alone, and Peter needs to find her.

"Noah," Peter greets easily, putting a smile on his face, and Noah examines him with those sharp blue-eyes of his that remind him of Stiles' eyes despite Stiles being the mirror-image of Claudia and had inherited those brown-amber eyes of hers that could gleam Beta gold in certain lights.

"Peter," Noah greets calmly, a flicker of concern in those eyes as Peter ushers him in and closes and locks the door behind him. "I got the file, I suppose we can look over it after we—"

Noah had kept walking as he talked and had halt in the archway to the living room.

"Peter?" Noah questions, something flat in his tone as he stares into the living room.

"Yes, Noah?" Peter questions breezily, knowing just what had halted the Sheriff in his tracks, and walks over to the older man.

"Why is Chris Argent sat in your living room and eating pizza?" Noah asks as his hand twitches to his gun, a twitch mirrored by the Hunter staring at him with a blanked face.

"Can we not start a shootout in the middle of Peter's apartment?" Stiles pleads quietly. "Think of the books!"

“Stiles is right, I’d rather not have a shootout in my apartment like we’re in a western film,” Peter says, looking between the two men.

“Okay, everyone who had a weapon on them, put the gun on safety and set it on the table,” Stiles announces, glaring at both men until they grumble and set their guns down. “Thank you. See this is nice, we can have a civil conversation.”

“I’m taking a slice of pizza,” Noah announces, handing over the files to Peter who takes them delicately from his hands.

“Thank you, Noah,” Peter graces him with a smile before leaving the room just for a moment so he can put the file upstairs.

He wants to look, of course he does, but he also knows if he starts looking now he’s going to get obsessive over it. And possibly have another breakdown, he’s not sure he can handle dealing with another panic attack.

Once is enough to already snap his control, but two? He might hurt someone he doesn’t want to hurt.

“I can handle this,” Peter tells himself as he leaves the upstairs office.

Derek watches him as he comes back downstairs, he smiles at his pup and places a gentle hand on the back of his neck to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“So, I’ll ask again. Why is there a live Argent in your apartment?” Noah raises an eyebrow at Peter.

"Why does that make me think you wouldn't have been surprised if there was a dead Argent in the apartment?" Stiles wonders out loud.

"There's actually two Argent's in my apartment," Peter corrects Noah while smirking at Stiles.

"Fine," Noah sighs. "Why is there an armed and live Argent in your apartment with three teenagers, one of them also an Argent, and none of them seeming to be surprised by what we're talking about?"

"Because Mr Argent pushed him into having a breakdown in the kitchen and ruined what would no doubt be a delicious meal, and why we're eating pizza," Lydia says with a dark glance towards Chris, and Allison smirks slightly into her pizza.

It seems whatever tiny crush Lydia may have had on her dad had died with him denying her the possibility of eating a full meal of Peter's cooking.

"He _what_?" Noah says dangerously as he turns his stare on Chris.

“It was a bit of a misunderstanding,” Chris tries to argue, glancing at Peter for help.

But the Alpha is simply sitting there enjoying his slice of pizza. He raises an eyebrow at the hunter and then at Noah.

“Oh, you want _me_ to stop him from strangling you?” he takes a bite of pizza, “Hm, I don’t know about that. I feel like you could maybe take a hit or two.”

“I can make sure it hurts,” Noah smirks, which makes Chris straighten a little.

“Oh my god, there will be _no_ fighting. No guns, no fighting. At all,” Stiles glares at his dad and then Chris, “ _Civil conversations_ only, please.”

“Hmm, if we’re getting civil, than should I be concerned about you and Derek holding hands?” His dad raises an eyebrow.

“No. Nope. Nu-uh. Just bros being dudes right here. Nothing romantic at all, sometimes dudes just gotta hold hands,” Stiles flails a little.

But he noticeably doesn't let go of Derek's hand and actually tightens his grip slightly making Derek duck his head slight to cover his smile.

Noah gives an unconvinced noise before turning back to Chris—he'll get the real story from Stiles at home.

"Right, so what was this _misunderstanding_?" Noah asks Chris as he picks up a slice of pizza to enjoy.

"It's kind of private," Chris hedges as he glances at Peter.

The younger man, however, seems to be completely focused on his pizza and doesn't seem to notice.

"Uh-huh," Noah says in an unconvinced tone before turning to Lydia. "Miss Martin? Could you help me out here?"

"You can call me Lydia, Sheriff," Lydia smiles at him before glancing over at Derek and Stiles, her smile twisting in a smirk as she looks back at the Sheriff. "I'm sure you're going to see _a lot_ of me and Jackson from now on."

Derek glares at his pizza and tightens his grip on Stiles' hand.

"Is that so?" Noah glances at his son briefly, it seems he has a _lot_ to talk about with his son. "Very well, Lydia, what can you tell me about this _misunderstanding_ between Peter and Mr Argent?"

Stiles has to applaud his dad, he certainly chose the one that would have no problem explaining everything in detail and in a way that isn't flattering to Chris.

"Well," Lydia crosses her legs and straightens her shoulders a little. "Mr Argent decided he wanted to drive us to here which we thought was because he was being overprotective, but it seems to because he's some unresolved issues with Mr Hale, or should we call you Peter since your our Alpha now?"

"You can call me Peter," Peter says in amusement as Noah closes his eyes.

"Please tell me that you didn't bite three teenagers—one of them _Allison Argent_ —while _Chris Argent_ was here," Noah almost begs.

"I haven't bitten anyone since my attempt with Stiles," Peter protests his innocence. "You can be human or whatever and still be Pack."

"I'm still trying to ignore the fact you _bit_ my son."

“It was on the wrist, that’s just play among wolves.” Peter scoffs, leaning back in his seat in the couch.

He glances over at Chris, who’s having a crisis on the inside, while staring at Noah.

“You’re _biting_ a _minor_.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, “If this is your way of trying to make a strange comparison to the bite being like sexual intercourse you might want to look somewhere else. The Bite is a gift, it’s something an Alpha gives to a Beta they know they can trust and will bring strength to the Pack. You don’t give it to everyone you think should have it.”

“Besides, Peter is into older men with a bit of grey in their hair, and has a gun kink,” Stiles smirks when the Alpha chokes.

“ _Stiles_.”

“What? Did I lie?” he teases back, moving away when the Alpha leans over so swipe at him playfully.

Noah tenses when he sees claws scrap across his sons shirt, but it doesn’t pierce through the fabric and the teenager just laughs it off.

He keeps having to remind himself that Peter would never hurt Stiles, Claudia and Peter were the closest of friends. He knows Peter would kill anyone if they hurt Derek and he’d do the same for Stiles.

It's just hard to remember when Peter flashes claws or eyes or something that reminds Noah that Peter isn't human. He supposes he should remember that Peter has never been human, and only just pretended to be human around Noah.

"You're a brat," Peter informs Stiles making the teen flash him a smirk.

"Should I continue with the story or did Stiles' mention of Peter's type kind of summed up why Mr Argent came here in reality?" Lydia asks Noah brightly.

Noah sighs, he can put together why Chris Argent came around, and he looks towards Peter.

"Should I continue this line of questioning or do you want me to drop it?" Noah asks the younger man seriously.

Peter leans back against the couch as he watches Noah intently for a moment.

"Why do you care?" Peter asks simply, and Noah presses his lips together before nodding as he realises it's a fair question considering how he reacted after the whole false kidnapping thing.

"Because you were Claudia's best friend, because you are important to Stiles and you are his Alpha," Noah begins, he's still a bit iffy on the details involved what that means when it comes to Stiles, but thinks it's like Stiles has gained a second parent that's more equipped to claw and kill any threat to Stiles' being. "Because despite everything, I still consider you a friend."

"Is it your professional curiosity making you want to know or out of concern for a friend?" Peter questions afterwards.

"Can't it be both?" Noah questions back and he eats some of his pizza as he waits for Peter to decide.

Peter hums and gives a thoughtful look to that, “I suppose it could be both. As much as I appreciate your concern, I promise you it’s not needed, I can take care of myself, Noah.”

Stiles turns his head to give the Alpha a look, “Didn’t we just have a conversation about you not having the strength to defend yourself from a group of hunters? Or did you just forget you were in coma for six years?”

Flashing red-eyes, Peter rumbles, “Oh darling boy, how could I forget such a torturous time. Six years can feel like an eternity when your nurse is letting you get tortured and raped on a weekly basis.”

The teenager flinches at those words and frowns, feeling horrible for bringing up such awful memories for Peter.

“I—“

“Your nurse did **what!** ” Noah snarls, and starts standing up like he’s going to shoot someone’s head off.

“Keep this up and you’re going to have an entire Protect Peter Hale Squad,” Lydia chuckles to the Alpha, the joke of it falling flat when the Alpha realizes what she’s saying is true.

“Well, I don’t need a protection squad. I can protect myself just fine,” the older man says huffing and crossing his arms.

" _Peter_ ," Noah snaps making Peter start and look at him. "I don't care if you are some big and bad Alpha, it doesn't mean I'm going to stand by when a nurse is allowing their patients be raped and tortured! I'm the Sheriff, it's my job to deal with crimes and arrest people commit them!"

Peter blinks at him rather wide-eye, and Stiles clears his throat and Noah looks at him sharply, something angry still clear in his gaze.

"Hmm, she's no longer working there so that's a plus side?" Stiles offers, and Noah's look gets even sharper as he looks at his son.

"And how do you know that?" Noah asks with a dangerous tone to his voice, and Stiles winces, he had been hoping to avoid mentioning anything close to what happened with Scott earlier.

"She's now the school nurse," Stiles answers, and hopes that his dad doesn't ask what he was doing at the school nurse's office because no one in this room will allow Stiles hedge his way out of telling him.

"And why were you in the nurse's office and why am I only finding out about this?" Noah asks as his tone gets sharper making Stiles wince again. " _Stiles?_ "

"Because McCall slammed him against a wall," Jackson immediately says making Noah's head snap to him and Chris to jerk because this is the first time he's hearing _that_.

"It wasn't like that!" Stiles protests with a flush as Noah looks at Stiles sharply.

"And you're still acting like a battered partner," Lydia scoffs.

“Scott did **what!** ”

“Dad!”

Jumping up, Stiles runs over and wraps around his arms around his dad to stop him from walking out of the door and chewing Scott out.

“Don’t tell me to stop, anyone who hurts my son is gonna get a mouthful from me,” Noah growls.

“Dad, please. Don’t do something that’ll probably end you in jail, you’re the Sheriff, you’re not supposed to hit teenagers!” Stiles shouts, continuing to hold his dad in place so he doesn’t do anything.

“Stiles—“

“ _Dad, please_!”

The Sheriff growl under his breath but does as his son asks and steps away from the door, letting his son lead him back to the couch so he can sit down.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he glares at Stiles while his son sat back down and rubbed his eyebrows.

“Okay, everyone good here? Everyone just needs to take a _deep_ breath and _chill_ and not try to jump and kill anyone,” Stiles tells them all.

Stiles sighs heavily as Derek rests his hand on his shoulder, "Why is it that the guy I actually thought has anger issues hasn't yet tried to kill someone or storm off somewhere?"

Derek snorts, "Perhaps you were wrong about my anger issues?"

"Or maybe you calmed down some with regular cuddles from your mom?" Stiles questions, and Derek shrugs.

"Mom?" Noah questions as he glances around. "Please don't tell me that people are coming back from the dead."

"I'm his mother," Peter informs Noah, and Noah looks at him blankly before dropping his gaze down Peter.

"I've seen you naked," Noah points out making Stiles scrunch up his nose because he isn't sure if he wants to know how his dad has seen him naked. "I know you aren't secretly a woman, nor do you have the equipment for it."

"Derek's an ass baby," Jackson tells Noah 'helpfully' with a smirk.

"A what?" Noah asks in complete confusion as Derek groans and buries his face into hands.

"Why is everyone so _obsessed_ with me being an ass baby?" Derek asks without looking up, and Stiles pats his shoulder with a snicker.

Peter waves a hand around, “This isn’t the point right now. And Der, Pup, you know we all love you even if you’re an ass baby.”

A smirk curls up his lips when Derek groans in indignation, Stiles snickers next to him and squeaks when Derek looks up to send a glare his way.

“The point is, Jennifer, my use to be nurse and torturer is now a nurse at school. And is probably going to be preying on Stiles because she’s suspicious of him being in the Pack,” Peter explains, “Which means she’s going to notify Victoria, and Victoria is going to start stalking Stiles.”

“Is there a possibility we could get evidence of her attacking you while you were in coma?” Noah asks, leaning forward and getting his _cop_ face on.

“Probably not. Hunters aren’t known for slipping on the job, but if you want to investigate I won’t stop you,” Peter tells him, feeling some warmth in his chest at how protective Noah is of him.

He never thought the man hated him, Peter always thought that Noah had thought of him as Claudia’s weird high school friend.

Claudia was always friendly to Peter, and they had been the two weird friends since middle school, and then Noah came along and soon enough those two were dating and then married, but Claudia always made room for Peter in her heart and in her home.

"Yeah, but they probably thought you weren't going to wake up," Stiles leans forward as he narrows his eyes and rests his arms on his knees. "They probably didn't think to hide it as well as they normally do, but then you started to wake up and they panicked—or Jennifer panicked and probably tried to cover up whatever evidence they left behind which may have made the cover up sloppy and leave something behind for Dad to discover."

"How likely is it she or Victoria," Noah looks at Chris, "will do something to Stiles?"

Allison chews on her lip, she wants to object and say her mother isn't like that, but she's had a harsh awakening that she didn't really know her family.

"Very," Peter says immediately without looking at Chris. "Jennifer is cruel, she delights in torture and she can be very patient in watching it. The fact that she pushed so strongly on their first meeting? That worries me."

"Stiles is my friend," Allison looks at her dad, something desperately hopeful in her eyes. "She wouldn't hurt him, would she?"

Chris' jaw clenches, not sure how to explain Victoria, and Peter scoffs.

"Do you want me to tell you how I met your mother?" Peter asks as he leans forward to look at Allison. "It isn't a nice story, nor does it paint your mother in a flattering light, but I think it shows her character."

"Peter," Chris says, almost a beg, and Allison's jaw clenches.

"I want to know," Allison tells Peter as she looks at Peter steadily, meeting his gaze with determination.

"I wasn't in a good way," Peter admits freely, watching Allison steadily—the daughter that could have been his, a teenager that looks little like the woman he loathes. "I was recovering from my extended stay in Eichen House, I was being denied my right as mother to my pup, and I was aware how much Chris' family was pushing for marriage."

Derek swallows at the pain in Peter's voice as he spoke briefly about being denied Derek, and Stiles links their hands again, giving a comforting squeeze.

"I wasn't aware, however, that Chris had already bowed to his family's demands and had married without informing me," Peter tells her making Chris close his eyes as Allison looks at him in shock.

“So here I was, just getting out of being in an insane asylum for a whole year. Just found out my sister took away my pup and brainwashed him into thinking she was his _mother_ , and then out of nowhere I get a text from Chris. Meet me at our usual place, it said. I was excited, finally, something good out of this shit fest I’ve been through.”

Chris feels his heart drop as he realizes where this was going.

“I was in our hotel room waiting for Chris to come in. And instead a bunch of hunters show up and hold me down, me, a werewolf who’s never killed an innocent before, and had just gotten out of an asylum. Your mother first held a gun up to my head, and then to my cock. She told me, “if I ever catch you sniffing around my husband like the little whore you are, I’ll shoot your dick off and then your head”. And then she left, and let the four hunters holding me down beat me until my ribs were broken in and I was bleeding from every hole in my body.”

Allison covers her mouth with her hand, a sob escaping from her lips as she realizes how _monstrous_ her mother was.

“I have pictures of you want to see, she made sure to send a whole handful of photos,” Peter smiles cruelly as the memory of the trauma hitting him all at once.

"I didn't know she did that," Chris tells him in a pained tone, but Peter isn't listening.

"I suppose I should be thankful she didn't tell them to rape me too," Peter muses as he remembers the Hunters laughing as they kept hitting and kicking him. "A few wanted too, I had already made a name for myself you see. They joked about taking photos of every moment and then sending it out to all the known Packs, so they knew just what type of whore I was, how I would spread my legs and be the bitch for any Hunter that looked my way."

"Peter," Chris says in a pained tone, a hand hesitating as he doesn't know if he should touch Peter or not.

Lydia blanches as she listens and Jackson's fists clench briefly before he pulls Lydia into a loose sideways hug.

"Oh god," Allison feels sick, _this_ is what her family did? _This_ is what her mother did to people? _This_ is what they expected her to do?

"I'm sure Talia would have seen the photos as further proof that she was right," Peter continues in an almost dead tone that makes Derek whine and clench Stiles' hand. "She would have been furious that I was _stupid_ enough to allow them to take photos, embarrassed that the other Packs knew what a _whore_ I was, and I can only guess what she would have done to me."

"Mom," Derek calls out, hoping to break Peter from spiralling further.

"Robert," Peter's breathing hitches and a tremble goes through him as he flexes and clenches his hands. "Robert would have been furious that I had _allowed_ someone else to touch me."

"Peter!" Stiles calls out as Derek whines again, hunching in his shoulders as if the very mention of his father was an attack on him. "Enough!"

But it wasn't like before, before Peter had been angry. He had been fighting Chris, wanting to hurt him, but this time? He hadn't been aiming to hurt Allison, not really, it had been more about making her aware of what her mother was capable of. But now he's spiralling, falling down the rabbit hole of bad memories and trauma.

Peter struggles with the thoughts swirling around in his head, the cynical laughter, the hurt, the pain.

Looking up, he freezes when he sees the tears and horror on Allison’s face, he hurt her, he hadn’t meant too, but he did.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “I—your mother has hurt me in countless ways, and I didn’t mean to ruin the image you had of her. Mothers are important—“

“Mothers also aren’t supposed to have their husband's ex get beaten up and raped,” Allison snaps, “I’m the product of an arranged marriage! My dad’s gay, my mom’s a fucking psycho!”

Peter jumps to his feet and drags Allison into a hug.

“I’m going to become just like my mom and my aunt! I’m going to hurt people—“ she sobs against Peter’s shoulders.

It was almost like looking into a mirror image of his son who had thought the same thing about becoming his father. He stroked her dark hair and held her close.

“You’re nothing like them, I promise you that, Allison,” Peter tells her, “You’re a good person. A sweet girl.”

“But—but—“

“Allison, look at me. You saw what I am, you know about our families history and you know the possibilities of what will happen if you join a Pack. Tell me this now, do you want to kill me?”

“No!” she yells in horror.

“Even though I’m not human? Even though I’m an unnatural creature that can shift my form and not only that I have both the biology of a man and a woman? Something disgusting and _wrong_.”

“No! There’s nothing wrong with you! I would never hurt you, or Stiles or Derek. I don’t want to kill innocent people.”

"And I believe you," Peter says, words he didn't think he would say to any Argent. "But you have to understand something about Hunters, Allison. To them? I'm not innocent, Derek's not innocent, Stiles isn't innocent."

Chris clenches his fists and rests them over his knees as he stares at the floor.

That little bit of truth hadn't been something he had ever liked to think about, especially not when he had been with Peter.

He had preferred to just live in the stolen moments they had together, in the dream he allowed himself to imagine where they could be together, and Chris supposes that's always been his problem.

He always ignored inconvenient truths and suspicions.

"But _why?_ " Allison demands as Peter strokes her hair.

"Because I'm a werewolf, Derek's a werewolf and Stiles can do magic," Peter explains and Noah shoots a sharp look at his son.

"You can do _magic_ and you didn't tell me?" Noah asks lowly, and Stiles winces.

"It didn't seem important?" Stiles offers sheepishly making Noah pinch at his nose.

"We are going to have a serious talk soon," Noah warns him, and Stiles gives another wince as he nods in agreement.

"But that's how you're born!" Allison is almost tempted to stamp her foot in outrage like a toddler. "It's like killing someone for the colour of their skin or their sexuality! It's so _stupid!_ "

Peter huffs a laugh as he rests his burnt cheek on top of her head.

"Hunter's seem completely unaware of just how racist they are," Peter informs her. "They believe they are doing the right thing, the only acceptable to do to someone other like me, and sometimes they believe they are doing God's work."

"It's all so stupid," Allison informs him as she grips his shirt. "I don't want to be like them."

"You won't be," Chris says as he stands up and moves so he can stroke a hand down Allison's back. "You'll never have to be someone you don't want to be, you don't have to be a Hunter or anything like that. You can be just yourself."

Sniffling and wiping her tears away, Allison pulls her dad into the hug she’s having with Peter, both the older men freezing momentarily as they startle at the shared touches between each other. Peter turns his head away when he feels his cheeks go warm, instead turning it to the side so he can gently rub his scent into Allison’s hair.

“Man, this has been one train wreck after another,” Stiles comments quietly to himself as he watches the three of them hug.

Derek grunts in agreement, snatching up another slice of pizza to chew on, his chest squeezing a little when he watches the easy way Chris throws an arm around his mother’s shoulder.

He glared at the hunter, wanting to tear into him with his teeth and hurt him for the way he made Peter suffer.

But if there’s one thing he knows about wolves it’s to not fuck with their mates, and as much as he despises Chris, and wanted to see the man begging to have Peter back, he would never do anything to get in between the two of them.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s _not_ going to give the man a hard time.

Stepping back, Peter moves to settle down between Stiles and his son, wanting to give Chris and his daughter a moment to themselves while he comforts himself with the surrounding feeling of Pack and family.

“So let me get this straight, in the entirety of one day we found out Jackson is Peter’s biological son, Malia Tate who has been missing is his biological daughter, Victoria is a scary psycho bitch, Jennifer is an evil psycho nurse bitch and Peter just gained like a handful of people in his Pack,” Stiles sums up, “Did I miss anything?”

"Jackson is Peter's biological son?" Noah sighs as he rubs his temples. "Please tell me if there's another child I need to keep a look out for."

"As far as I am aware and according to the Hale Records, no, I don't have another child," Peter reassures him, and Noah gives Peter a look.

"It was in a _records book_?" Noah asks in disbelief, and Peter gives him a dry look.

"Talia took great care in continuing the diligent record keeping of the Hale's despite messing with my memories of my pups," Peter informs him, and Noah opens his mouth before closing it.

He's not even going to ask how Talia messed with Peter's memories, he's really not because it'll probably open another can of trauma.

"How about you getting injured?" Jackson asks dryly, and Stiles gives him a look.

"Must we bring _that_ up again?" Stiles asks tiredly.

"He made you bleed," Lydia adds darkly with crossed arms, and Noah looks towards Stiles with that dangerous look in his eyes again.

"I'm fine!" Stiles insists again, feeling like a broken record. "I got checked out by the nurse."

"By 'the evil psycho nurse bitch'?" Noah asks dryly, and Stiles slumps back.

"I'm still _fine_ ," Stiles says stubbornly as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Barely a lingering ache."

"Uh-huh," Noah says unconvinced, but decides to drop it at the stubborn look on Stiles' face.

"You missed my dad declaring his love for Peter," Allison asks as she sniffs and rubs her eyes.

“Oh my god, what is our life? A soap opera!” Stiles throws his hands up and falls back against the couch, earning a roomful of snorts at his dramatic flair.

“If it were a soap opera, I doubt anyone would want to watch it,” Derek says next to him.

“Anyone else still a little hungry?”

“Seriously, Stiles, you’re still hungry?” Jackson crosses his arms over his chest.

“What? It’s been an emotional minefield the last thirty minutes,” Stiles huffs, “I’m very hungry after having an emotional rollercoaster this afternoon has brought to me.”

“Are you hungry, Pup?” Peter turns to ask his son.

Derek gives a one shouldered shrug, “I could eat some more, but you don’t have to cook anything, Mom.”

“Nonsense, Pup!” Peter presses a kiss to his son’s forehead and then stands up. “You know I love spoiling you with food, I’m not going to waste the opportunity to feed you.”

Blushing, Derek ducks his chin a little and leans against Stiles’ shoulder.

Chris watches as Peter walks back into the kitchen and starts cleaning up the mess he made earlier, switching things out and tossing away the burnt food before getting out some fresh selections again.

"I don't even care that I just ate," Lydia informs Jackson as she places her empty plate on the coffee-table. "I finally get to properly eat his cooking, I'll just work off the extra weight with some running or maybe sex."

Stiles chokes as Noah rubs his temples.

"Please keep the comments of the underage sex you're doing to a minimum," Noah says as he rubs at his temples. "I really don't want to feel compelled to inform your parents that their fifteen-year-old daughter is having sex."

"You're fifteen?" Allison asks in surprise as she looks at Lydia, who sits up and flicks some hair over her shoulder almost smugly.

"I skipped a grade," Lydia informs Allison, almost preening. "Stiles had to repeat one, it sucks for him, but it has given me an actual challenge when it comes to dominating the top grades of our year."

"I didn’t realise you knew or cared about that," Stiles says as he absently wraps his arm around Derek's waist and earning a side-eye from his father.

"Just because I pretended to ignore you doesn't me I wasn't completely aware of the intellectual challenge you present me," Lydia scoffs as she looks at Stiles. "You've almost taken the top spot from me several times, and it's only the odd completely off-topic papers that have stopped you from seriously challenging me."

"Hey, I connected it back to the subject!" Stiles protests and Lydia gives him a look.

"You wrote a complete and almost college-level paper of the entire history of the male circumcision for Economics," Lydia points out making Noah make an almost pained noise as he rubs his forehead.

"And I deserved a better grade as I was able to link it back to Economics!" Stiles argues hotly. "I was robbed a deserved A- at least."

"You wrote a paper on the male circumcision for _Economics_?" Chris asks in disbelief, and Noah just shakes his head.

"Don't ask him how the two of them are linked," Noah quietly begs. "I've already heard it and I wish I didn't have too."

Derek settles back in his seat on the couch, watching as Stiles and Lydia playfully banter back and forth with one another.

Out of the corner of his eyes he notices Chris standing up and moving to the kitchen where Peter is silently humming to himself while starting up dinner again. It makes his hackles raise at the sight and before he knows it, he’s standing up as well and cutting Chris off before he enters the kitchen.

“Derek.”

“Chris.”

“Listen—“

“No, _you_ listen. I don’t care that everyone else seems to be fine with you switching teams, and that you’re trying to get back with Peter again. That is my mom in there, and I finally just got him back.

For once in my life things seem to be going well and I don’t wake up every morning wishing I would just die already,” he takes a step forward and lets his eyes bleed into electric-blue. “If you ever hurt my mother again, if you make him cry, upset, or wounded. I will personally make your life a living _hell_ , I’ll take everything you love, and I’ll kill it right before your eyes.”

Chris stares at the younger man in front of him silently.

Derek would have been just about thirteen-years-old when Kate had come to town to visit, she was around her mid-twenties at the time while Derek was just starting puberty.

He was a _child_ when she _raped_ him, and Chris hadn’t known a thing. This kid had to grow up so fast, ignored by his fake mother, raped by a psychopath and then had everything he loved burned before his eyes.

And now he had his mother back, a Pack, and some _hunter_ who had broken Peter’s heart before was trying to get his way back with him.

“I promise, I will do everything in my power to make sure Peter never gets hurt.”

Derek snorts and gives Chris a dark look, "I don't really trust your promises."

Chris doesn't flinch, though he wants too, and he doesn't blame Derek for not trusting in Chris' promises.

Chris promised Peter to always be honest with him, he broke that by marrying Victoria and not telling him.

Chris promised Peter that he would always be there for him, he broke that in the belief he was keeping Peter safe.

Chris promised Peter that he would always be safe, and instead Peter was _raped_ , his pups were taken from him, his son _raped_ by Chris' _own sister_ and then she tried to burn him to death, and when Peter survived? Chris' own wife made sure he was tortured and _raped_ for six years.

Chris promised Victoria that he would be faithful and love her on their wedding day, she knew he lied that very night when the drugs he had been given made Chris see Peter and she had to hear the words of love her new husband uttered for _him_ and not _her_.

Chris promised Victoria that he would never see Peter again, and yet Chris was readily breaking it now.

"I don't blame you for that," Chris says honestly, staring at the teenager he threatened not so long again. "But I mean it, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that Peter never gets hurt again, and I'm going to do the same for you."

Derek looks startled as he rears back slightly and his eyes blink back to his normal almost kaleidoscope eyes—eyes that can't seem to make their mind up to be green-grey, blue-green or greenish-brown—that look at Chris uncertainly, like the teenager didn't know what to make of Chris' promise to protect _him_ too.

It still makes Chris' heart clench to look at him, to look at Derek and think he could have been Chris' son, should have been Chris', and Chris knows he would have raised Derek as his own if he had known, if he had just figured it out and not been so blinded by his own problems that he wrote everything up to Talia being _Talia_.

Blinking a little at the statement, Derek gives the other man a slight nod of his head and then steps to the side to let Chris through.

He watches the back of the older man as he hesitantly steps into Peter’s space in the kitchen, the Alpha glances up momentarily to look at Chris and then Derek.

“I’ll be fine, Pup,” Peter tells him under his breath, giving Derek a little smile to let his son know he’s fine.

Rumbling in the back of his throat, Derek makes his way back to the living room where Stiles has gotten the kids back to studying like they were supposed to be doing in the first place.

He sees Jackson glance up at him and send a glare his way when Derek sits down next to Stiles, picking up the laptop he had set down so he could check on his emails.

Stiles pulls his knees up to his chest after kicking his shoes off and presses up against Derek’s side while he goes over his notes.

* * *

“Peter, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. Bringing up those awful memories and the tr—“

“Do you know what I love about cooking?” Peter interrupts, not giving Chris a glance as he drops the lobster into the pot to boil.

“I—uh. No?”

“Cooking, unlike baking, is an art. With baking there’s a list of instructions you have to follow and measure everything correctly before making it all, because if you don’t it’ll fall down,” Peter explains, lifting some spice to his nose and scent it. “But with cooking you can do whatever you want, throw in any kind of spice you feel like and see what the outcome makes. You can change and mould things the way you want it to be, without even knowing if it’s going to come out good or not. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Not...really,” Chris admits.

The Alpha snorts, and lifts a forkful of cooked garlic and lets Chris get a mouthful.

“My life metaphors did always fly over your head, but it’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

"I don't know if I should be flattered or offended," Chris admits dryly making Peter smirk a little as keeps his attention on the food. "Will you allow me to apologise without going onto another weird metaphor?"

Peter hums slightly as he adds the melted butter to the garlic and begins to make a garlic butter sauce, "Probably not."

Chris sighs, but smiles despite himself as he leans against the counter and watches Peter.

"I'm going to ask for a divorce tonight," Chris tells him, and Peter stills briefly before going back to swirling the pan of garlic and butter while adding some parsley to the mixture.

"I find that surprisingly forthright and determined of you," Peter muses as he checks the new potatoes happily boiling away in their pan, before placing the sauce on a low heat to focus on the salad.

"You didn't expect me to?" Chris asks him as Peter chooses the right knife from his large knife block.

"I learnt a long time ago that you have very little spine when it comes to family," Peter says evenly and Chris winces as he clenches his jaw. "Loathe though I am to say it, she _is_ your wife and thus your family. I would have thought you would have kept this charade on for a while longer before being able to gather the balls to tell her that."

Chris snorts, "Lovely way of putting it."

"But is it inaccurate?" Peter asks as he glances over at Chris, and a muscle jumps in Chris' jaw.

"No," Chris admits almost shortly, and with a hint of shame. "But finding out what I have tonight? Having my _fantasy_ that my family actually gave a damn enough about me to keep their word when it came to your safety broken? Let's just say I've finally remembered I have balls _and_ a spine."

"I'm sure Allison's understanding and approval helped," Peter adds making Chris nod in agreement.

"I-I don't know why I thought she hadn't realised something was up with my marriage," Chris admits as he rubs a hand over his mouth.

Peter finds himself reaching out to settle a hand on Chris’s shoulder. The older man looks up, almost startled at the gentle touch and they’re stuck staring at one another.

“If you ever need a place, I’d be happy to lend you one,” Peter tells him.

“I—thank you, Peter,” Chris leans into the touch, and almost trips a little when Peter removes his hand from his shoulder.

“Don’t get used to it, I’m only being nice because I care about you still. Although it baffles me for the reason why,” Peter lies.

He knows why of course. Chris is his mate, and his wolf would do anything to have his mate in his arms again, but he has yet to forgive the hunter for what he’d done in the past.

The werewolf smirks and then goes back to cooking, settling in the quiet space around the both of them as Chris watches from where he leans against the kitchen island.

He tries to be subtle about it, but Chris can’t stop the way his eyes travel down Peter’s back and down to wear his ass looks amazing in those tight fit jeans.

"I can feel you staring, and I know what you're thinking," Peter says with some amusement, trying not to let the smell of Chris' lust distract him.

His wolf preens smugly in his head, wants to present himself properly to his mate and ignore the hurt Chris dealt them in the past.

"Now I _know_ you chose those jeans on purpose," Chris says softly as he has to adjust himself.

Peter throws a smirk over his shoulder, and he doesn't mean to, but he meets Chris' heated gaze and his stomach clenches in want and desire.

He remembers that look, remembers the stalk Chris would fall into as he backed Peter against a wall or something, and pull him into an utterly _filthy_ kiss that lead them almost clawing of the other's clothes as they pressed together and kissed.

He remembers the way Chris would look at him, the way his eyes were hot and dark with lust, desire and _love_ , how the older man would kiss down his chest before willingly kneeling at Peter's feet.

" _Fuck_ ," Peter jerks his gaze away and grips the rail of the oven door as he tries to calm himself down.

" _Peter_ ," Chris says, and Peter shudders as he remembers all the ways Peter had heard Chris say his name, and Chris moves closer to lean against the counter by the stove, his chest almost heaving as he breathes and looks at Peter with that goddamn look that warms something in him and makes him clench down.

Peter turns his face away, breathing through his mouth and groaning as he _tastes_ the scent of Chris' lust on his tongue, "Stop it."

Chris swallows thickly and has to force himself back and away, he presses against the fridge and hopes the coolness of the metal at his back will cool his heated blood.

His wolf howls at the added distance, urging him to give in, just a little, just a touch and taste, it had been _so_ damn _long_ and Peter longs for his mate, to hold him and kiss him, to feel him, to _claim_ him.

Swallowing, Peter moves back to cook and let’s his shoulders drop a little.

He has to remind himself he’s safe, Robert isn’t here, and Chris certainly isn’t Robert.

_He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe._

“I uh—I just need sometime before we trying anything again. I—sorry,” he laughs mockingly at himself. “I must look so pathetic to you. I used to be able to push you down and use you like a toy, or you could just whisk me away into your bed with a few words. But...”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Peter. I know you were raped, and hurt. I shouldn’t have done that without asking if you were okay in the first place.”

Looking up from the pan to stare at the hunter, Peter feels his throat close in on itself when he sees the love in Chris’s eyes as the man stares right through him.

“Thank you.”

Nodding his head, Chris takes a step forward to—he’s not even sure. He pulls back and clasps his hands behind him so he can just stand there and watch as Peter finishes up with making dinner.

“I just need time,” Peter tells him, almost desperate this time.

“I know. Peter—love, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. _I know_.”

Peter wants to laugh, he wants to cry, he wants to demand what Chris supposedly _knows_ , but Peter's already had two outbursts tonight and he refuses to have another one, so he swallows it down, pushes it away.

"Could you get the plates? They are in the cabinets above the sink," Peter says without looking at Chris.

Chris wants to hit something—himself or the wall, he's not sure—because he pushed when he shouldn't have, should have controlled himself better.

"Sure," Chris says after clearing his throat, pushing away his self-loathing as he gets the plates and lines them on the counter for Peter to dish up on while keeping a careful distance between them.

Peter drains what needs to be drained, and then begins to carefully dish up each component of the meal he originally planned and ruined once already before finishing it off with the garlic butter sauce.

Peter grabs the first two plates and placed them on the large kitchen table as Chris helps brings over two more plates, until all the plates are in front of an empty chair and grabs the cutlery from the drawer and hands them over to Chris while grabbing glasses for drinks if they are thirsty.

"Dinner is ready," Peter calls out, pitching his voice louder than he would normally have too with just Derek and Stiles here.

"Great," Stiles is the first into the kitchen. "I'm starving."

Derek snorts as he follows closely after his mate, "You ate about a quarter of a pizza not even an hour ago."

"Emotional confrontations make me hungry, Derek! I've already explained this," Stiles reminds him in a fondly exasperated tone.

Derek rolls his eyes almost fondly at the teenager as he moves to sit next to Stiles, smirking when Jackson simply glares at him.

Ever since he was a kid he wanted a little brother, Derek loves his sisters with his whole heart and will always remember them.

But now he has a brother he never knew he had, and he’s going to both love and hate the teenager because of his crush on Stiles. Jackson’s just going to have to learn the hard way that Derek gets what he wants, and he wants Stiles.

Just, not in a sexual way.

Sort of. But he’s not ready for that kind of stuff in a relationship yet. And Stiles is still a minor.

“This looks delicious,” Lydia says as she stares at the butter melting on top of the lobster.

“Thank you, I just hope my skills aren’t as rusty as I think they are,” Peter grins, taking a seat at the head of the table with Derek on his right and Jackson on his left.

His chest swarms with warmth at the sight of having his sons at his table. He’s only had Jackson for a few hours, but he knew if anyone hurt him he’d kill them.

"The fact you think your skills are rusty tells me I will need to get back my bigger jeans," Stiles informs as his knife slides easily through the lobster meat.

"You’ll do no such thing," Peter informs him calmly as he spears some of his salad. "Besides, I've gotten rid of all of your old jeans."

Stiles froze with his fork inches from his mouth and looks at Peter with wide-eyes.

"That's impossible, you can't have," Stiles denies immediately, and Peter just smiles at him as he takes a sip of his glass of water. " _You did_."

"If I didn't, I knew you would immediately drown yourself in such unflattering clothing the moment you spent the night back at your own house," Peter explains as Stiles looks at him betrayal. "You're lucky I didn't get rid of all of your t-shirts."

"Please tell me you didn't throw away my Stud-muffin t-shirt or my I Support Working Moms shirt!" Stiles immediately pleads and Derek almost chokes on his food.

Noah just gives this sigh that Stiles is very familiar with as Allison and Chris stare at Stiles in disbelief.

"Why do I think I Support Working Moms isn't as wholesome as it should be?" Allison asks Lydia in an undertone.

"Because it has a shadow picture of a stripper and a pole on it," Lydia says before moaning in bliss as she savours her first bite of food. "That's it, I would become Pack just for _this_ food."

Peter snorts as he gives Lydia a pleased look, "You have excellent taste."

"I know," Lydia says primly before moaning after another forkful. "You should have been a chef."

"Peter! My t-shirts!" Stiles whines as Derek nudges him to eat, and Peter rolls his eyes.

"If you're that attached to nerdy t-shirts and such, we can go shopping again and get some that still flatter you," Peter says in a long-suffering tone.

" _Oh my god!_ You did get rid of them!"

Jackson snorts as he watches Stiles, "I wasn't aware this was dinner _and_ a show."

Stiles ignores him as he turns to his father, "We been robbed! It's a scandal!"

“Hmm, I didn’t see anything. Don’t really have any proof there,” his dad says in answer, taking a forkful of the lobster and humming at the taste.

He would never say it to his son, but he absolutely _hated_ those shirts.

“I’m being bullied. Outcasted! Shamed!” Stiles sits back in his seat and throws a hand over his heart.

“Shut up and eat your food,” Derek tells him in response, earning a slap to his shoulder from his mate.

“Rude! You’re supposed to be my boyfriend!”

_“Boyfriend!?”_

Stiles ducks his head, “Oops,” and scratches at the back of his head.

“Since when did this happen?” Jackson beats his dad to saying first.

Noah gives the teenager an eyebrow and then turns to look at his son.

“Did I say boyfriend? I meant boy friend. Like a boy that’s my friend,” Stiles tries to worms his way out of the conversation he just threw himself into.

" _Really?_ You're going that route?" Noah asks dryly, and Stiles winces.

"It was a worth a try?" Stiles offers sheepishly, and Noah gives him a look.

"A really bad try," Noah informs him making Stiles wince again.

"When did he become your _boyfriend_?" Jackson asks through gritted and slightly bared teeth as he glares darkly at Derek.

The older teen flashes a smug look at his newly discovered younger brother before pretending to go deaf and focuses on his food.

"We had a _date_ planned," Jackson continues, stressing the word date as he glares at newly discovered older brother—he's already disliking this whole older sibling thing.

"You had a _date_ planned and you didn't tell me?" Noah asks his son, sounding almost hurt, and Stiles winces.

"It wasn't a proper date! It was just going to be movies with Allison, Jackson and Lydia!" Stiles protests rather weakly for him.

"We said it was going to be a double-date when Allison was still with you know," Lydia adds as she glances sharply at the _'competition'_ and continues with grudging respect. "It seems I underestimated you."

"You were going on a date with _two_ people?" Noah demands in disbelief.

"Wait, does this mean you aren't gay?" Chris asks as he looks at Stiles, and Noah looks at Chris.

"Why do you think he's gay?" Noah asks with more disbelief. "Did you see what he was wearing before Peter got hold of him? He's not gay."

Chris' face closes off as he stares at Noah while Stiles cringes and Derek straightens with a frown, and Jackson's head snaps to the Sheriff.

"Huh," Lydia says as Peter drops his fork as he stares at Noah with a fierce frown, and there's something sharp in her thoughtful look as she looks at Noah. "So, did Scott learn his tactless bigotry from you or is it something you just have in common?"

"What?" Noah almost splutters as he stares at Lydia in shock, and Stiles closes his eyes tightly.

"Lydia," Stiles pleads quietly, his voice seeming too loud in the stunned silence.

“I’m just trying to state the obvious. Scott must have picked up his tactless bigotry from someone, but I hadn’t expected it to be the Sheriff.”

“ _Lydia_.”

“Now hold on a minute, Mrs. Martin, what are you trying to say here? Are you trying to state that _I’m_ homophobic?” Noah motions towards Stiles, “I think I’d know if my son were gay or not. He just—“

“Just doesn’t look gay? Act gay? Mr. Stilinski, I understand that as a parent you have your own concerns, but trying to shove your ideas on what a gay man should or shouldn’t look like is not acceptable in someone in your field of work. Stiles just came out as gay, or bisexual, I’m not sure because he hasn’t yet explored his opportunities.

But the fact of the matter is, don’t try and say your son is something else then what he says he is,” she glared down the middled-aged man.

“I—uh—I—“

“She’s kind of right Dad,” Stiles says softly, afraid of pulling all the attention back to him. “I am bisexual.”

“Son, I’m sorry. I just, I didn’t mean to hurt you, son. I’ve just always seen gay men as being one way or another, but, Lydia’s right, I was acting very tactless.” Noah says, hoping his son will forgive him.

"It's fine, Dad," Stiles smiles at his dad, a tad weakly, and Derek scowls slightly.

Derek is starting to understand that when Stiles insists he's fine, he's often not, but he just wants it to go away.

Noah relaxes some, still worried as he watches Stiles pick up his fork again, and realises they will be having a longer talk than he first thought.

"Perhaps I can broaden your thoughts when it comes to gay men, Sheriff," Chris says quietly after sharing a quick glance with Peter. "As I am gay myself."

Stiles' gaze jumps to Chris, eyes widening in surprise that Chris would out himself like that, and Chris bites the inside of his mouth so he doesn't say anything.

He _knew_ Stiles hadn't gotten over the Sheriff's thoughtless remark so quickly, and while Stiles isn't gay, Chris will make sure that Stiles knows he can still come to him if he wants to talk. Though he expects Stiles will quicker turn and have an easier time talking with Peter than Chris, but Chris will still make the offer.

"Yeah," Noah throws another glance at his son. "I think I would like that."

 _And need it_ , Noah finishes in his mind with a hint of frown.

"Well," Peter speaks up and breaks the tension, "I hope you don't mind if I keep Stiles for another night, Noah. Today has been harder than I expected, and I would prefer to keep my Pack close."

"I—sure," Noah agrees after another glance at where Stiles is sitting still subdued. "Though I expect him home tomorrow."

"Of course," Peter inclines his head in agreement despite the Alpha in him wanting to keep Stiles nice and safe in their Den.

"Does that include us?" Lydia asks as she gestures to herself, Allison and Jackson, and Peter smiles at her slightly.

"I haven't formally accepted you into the Pack," Peter explains gently. "I thought I would give you time to think about it before I do."

"How do you formally accept someone into a Pack?" Jackson asks with a frown.

"With a bite, of course, though it doesn't have to be the Bite."

“But how does that work? You just...bite us? Like with your human teeth?”

Jackson makes a face at that, “I don’t think I want some old man putting their teeth in my skin.”

Peter makes a noise of offense, “Excuse me! I am only thirty-seven! Not that old, and I had Derek when I was eighteen, I look good for my age for supposedly having three kids.”

“Yes, yes, you’re a very handsome Alpha,” Stiles teases the older man, and ducks when the man swats at him, snickering at the huff he gets from his Alpha.

“Werewolves have different forms of bites; the Mating Bite, Pack Bite, and a Turning Bite,” Peter explains, ignoring the earlier jab at himself. “I’d be giving you the Pack bite, in which I bite you on your wrist.”

“Is that the same bite you gave to Stiles?”

“Yes.”

“What about Scott?”

Peter frowns at that, “No, when I bit him, it was out of desperation, I did it on his side which is where an Alpha bites when they find the Beta to be less than or inferior. Given the chance to redo this option, I would not have given him the bite. He’s already proven to be more trouble than I need.”

There's something very smugly satisfied in Jackson's expression that makes Stiles snort.

"Is he going to be a problem?" Chris asks seriously as he leans forwards while Noah frowns in concern.

"He's _already_ a problem," Peter grumbles slightly before sighing. "Truthfully, I don't know. He already shown to carry a grudge against both Derek and I, while I can understand why he has a problem with me considering I turned him without consent, I don't understand his problem with Derek."

Stiles winces, part of the problem is Scott had become convinced that Derek bit him and while that had been proven false, Stiles thinks part of Scott still blames Derek for the bite despite the fact Derek wasn't even in the State when Scott was bitten.

But Scott's biggest problem?

"Derek tried to stop him from playing Lacrosse and seeing Allison," Stiles says with another wince because it's so petty, but the moment Scott had seen Allison that first day, he was gone and nothing else seemed to matter.

Hell, his biggest concern the morning after the full moon hadn't been the fact he had been shot at with a crossbow, that there was people looking to hunt and kill him, or that there was still an Alpha running around. No, it had been if Allison would forgive him for ditching her.

 _"Seriously?"_ Jackson says with a disgusted scoff while Chris scowls slightly and Allison winces.

"Scott's attack on you today," Lydia begins, eyes calculating in that way that's very intimating.

"It wasn't an attack!" Stiles protests, saying it was an attack made it seem worse than it was!

Lydia just managed not to roll her eyes at Stiles and his continued denial when it came to Scott and the truth.

"You said it wasn't a hate crime, so it wasn't about his bigotry concerning your sexuality," Lydia continues and Noah looks at Stiles in concern and some anger.

"What did he do when you came out?" Noah asks dangerously, and Stiles would really like to stop wincing tonight, it may turn into a tick.

"You know, run his mouth off, called Stiles and other bi people sluts," Jackson informs Noah making the Sheriff scowl angrily.

"Despite what you think may think of me, Lydia, I don't condone or think anything like _that_ ," Noah says gruffly. "I'll be informing Melissa this."

 _Great, another thing Scott will be pissed at me about_ , Stiles immediately and bitterly thinks.

Lydia inclines her head to the Sheriff, but didn't take her gaze from Stiles.

"His outburst was about Allison, wasn't it?" Lydia finishes, and Stiles winces again.

Stiles fidgets in his seat, simply wanting this whole thing to end but knowing if his dad, Peter, _and_ Lydia are all in the same room together?

They won’t let it rest until he’s said everything they needed to start the witch hunt.

“Stiles.”

An arm rest on his shoulder and gives him a gentle squeeze, looking up Stiles pauses momentarily when he sees Derek looking down at him with concern.

“Are you okay? Do you want to leave?” The older teen asks him.

“I—no it’s fine. I can handle this,” taking a deep breath to calm himself, Stiles turns to face the crowd of wolves—heh, _one wolf_ and five humans—and then tells them. “Yeah, he was angry about Allison. He um—I forgot I was wearing Derek’s jacket when I went over there and ended up setting it on her bed so both of our scents must have gotten on her. And Scott freaked out thinking I was trying to get with her, and Derek was hurting her. I tried to explain to him that wasn’t what was happening, but he wasn’t having it.”

“I see,” Noah rubs at his chin, “Well, I’ll be stopping by Melissa’s place after this to have a _long_ conversation with her.”

“Dad!—“

“No. No buts, no ifs, no nothing. You are my son, and I love Melissa dearly, but I don’t think she wants to hear about her son’s _attitude_ problems from a police officer when they have to arrest him,” Noah tells him.

“I—yeah, I guess you’re right. But just, try not to be harsh on Scott, he’s going through things right now. He got dumped by Allison, doesn’t know how to control his werewolf urges and is probably going Omega!”

Noah gives him a look of confusion, "Is that teenage slang or a werewolf thing?" Noah pauses for a moment before disbelief creases his face. "Why is this my life and those are my options?"

"It's a werewolf term," Chris says grimly as he puts a protective arm around Allison. "And it's not a good thing."

"How bad is it?" Noah asks with his tone turning grim as he turns into Chris.

"Omega is a werewolf without a Pack," Chris tells them. "Omega wolves are the weakest of werewolves, they don’t have a Pack strengthen them and no one to help with their control. Most Omegas end up going Feral and needing to be put down to stop them from attacking and killing people."

"Scott is willing choosing Omega over being Pack with us," Peter tells the table as he places his knife and fork over his empty plate. "His grudge with me is understandable, and truthfully? I would not want him as Pack if I had another choice considering what I have heard and seen of him. He's violently suppressing his wolf which will just cause him more control problems, and I believe he's unconsciously chosen Allison as an anchor."

"What's that?" Allison asks worriedly as Chris' arm tightens around her.

"He was using you to keep control," Peter informs her and Stiles scrunches his nose.

"Uh, he didn't have that good control on a good day," Stiles hates that he has to say this, and Peter nods.

"Using a person as an anchor isn't wise unless they are your mate," Peter leans back in his chair as he explains. "Romantic relationships, especially when you are a teenager, is are rarely long term or stable enough to be used as an anchor."

"Why is a mate different and how can you tell if someone is your mate?" Lydia asks curiously as she leans forward. "You said something about a mating bite earlier too."

"My, you are a curious one," Peter says with approval.

"Thank you," Lydia preens slightly. "But you still haven't answered my questions."

“Mates’ are what you humans would call soulmates. But it doesn’t necessarily mean you were both created to be with each other, it’s just someone who compliments you, is almost like that missing piece in your life you never knew you had. Someone who makes you whole,” Peter explains, going off a little bit as he stares off to the side. “Mate’s for werewolves are probably the most important thing to us, we would kill for our mate, die for them, suffer in pain for them. A wolf who finds their mate will become almost obsessively devoted to them, but they start to slowly get control of themselves later on. Mates’ are like an anchor to us, or like the moon personified.”

“What happens when a werewolf’s mate doesn’t want to be with them?”

Peter’s face goes through an array of emotions before settling on blank, “It will hurt the wolf more than it will hurt their mate. It will be like missing a limb, being torn in half, constant misery every day you live and breathe. Most wolves when rejected often times kill themselves afterwards, because what is a life without their moon in it?”

“That’s—that’s really awful,” Lydia looks down at her plate, and then back up, “Have you ever met your mate?”

“I thought I did, but I guess we were both living in different fantasies when we were together. I thought he would have stayed but instead he left,” Peter shrugs it off like it doesn’t hurt anymore, like every night there isn’t some gaping hole in his chest where Chris use to fill, like it doesn’t feel like daggers at piercing his skin the closer and farther Chris is away from him.

Said Hunter stares at Peter with a calculating look, but whatever he’s about to say is cut off.

“Anyways, that’s all in the past. And doesn’t really matter anymore, he chose to go his way and I chose to stay so I could take care of my baby boy,” Peter smiles, and moves to rest a hand on Derek’s arm.

“Mom,” Derek blushes, feeling slightly embarrassed but also leaning into his mother’s touch.

"And the mating bite?" Jackson asks curiously.

"Like I said earlier," Peter crosses one leg over the other as he leans back. "Werewolves have different types of bites, but the three most important ones are the Pack Bite, the Turning Bite, and the Mating Bite.

The wrist is the most important place for both the Turning and Pack Bite, it's the place an Alpha will bite to show they respect and value their Beta. The Mating Bite is different and is normally placed here," Peter cups where his neck meets his shoulder, "in werewolves, it is where our mating-glands are located and it will allow the bite to scar, it will normally be the only scar a werewolf will ever wear. However, sometimes the mate is human, and the werewolf will bite their mate somewhere else, the bite will still scar, and other werewolves will recognise it for what it is. The act of giving the Bite happens during sex, the act of physically mating."

"So, werewolves don't bite during sex unless it's to give the Mating Bite?" Stiles asks curiously while Noah goes a little pink and blanked face at the unexpected sex talk.

"Oh, we'll nip, playfully bite at our partner, but that's only because it appeals to us to see our lover covered in our marks," Peter chuckles slightly at the blushes some of the teens give at that titbit. "But we don't bite and break skin or bite to _claim_ our lovers unless they are our mates, then it's almost impossible not to claim them with a bite."

Chris' hand almost flies to his chest, to the bite-scar over his heart that Peter always seemed obsessed with whenever they had sex after Peter gave it to him, and Peter avoids Chris' gaze.

The scar that still rests over his heart, pale and white but not faded like his other scars had.

He feels his own heart roaring inside his head at this reveal. Peter and him are mates? Chris always knew there was something a little different about that bite in his chest, the way Peter had obsessively kissed at it, licked over that skin and bite it once in a while. It was burning now like a brand on his chest.

Peter had given him the mating mark but had never even told him they were mates.

Had he thought Chris already knew? Was he aware that not even hunters knew that mates were real? That for so long they had just thought it was something werewolves had come up with.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I messed this up, I messed this so fucking much._

If only he had asked, if only he hadn’t been too much of a _coward_ when it came to his family.

He thinks about what would have happened if he had the courage to say no to his family, turn his back to them and take Peter and run. Would that have stopped Peter from being raped? The trauma and the abuse? But even then, Chris would have still loved Peter if he wanted to have Derek still.

He tries to imagine a life in which he ran away with Peter, where they could have been safe from their families, where they could have raised Derek together and the other kids they possibly would have had together after that. Chris has never met Derek more than a handful of times, but he would have loved to have had him as his son. But all of that is nothing but a fantasy, and even then he can’t imagine a life without his daughter.

The teenagers keep asking Peter more questions that the Alpha happily answers, but Chris’s mind is still reeling from the fact that Peter is his mate.

Glancing up, he freezes when he sees Derek glaring at him from across the table, _he knows_.

Of course he does, he’s Peter’s son, of course he’d know they were mates and Chris had rejected Peter to go live some half-baked scam of a marriage.

_Most wolves rejected by their mates kill themselves._

But Peter wouldn't do that, couldn't do that because he had Derek, and Chris had made him feel _so much_ pain on top of what he was already dealing with by being _raped_ , and here Chris had thought he was doing Peter a favour.

Chris feels sick, he can almost _taste_ the bile at the back of his throat.

"Dad?" Allison touches his arm in concern, but Chris didn't deserve her concern, _god,_ he had been lying to her for her whole life!

"I need," Chris stands up making Peter look at him, concern clear in his blue-eyes, and it makes Chris feel sicker with self-disgust. "Bathroom?"

"Of course," Peter looks like he's going to get up. "Do you need me to show—"

"No," Chris interrupts, he can't deal with Peter's concern, doesn't deserve it. "I'll find it."

"Dad?" Allison calls after him worried as Chris almost rushes from the kitchen, from Peter, from her, from all the lies Chris told and believed with right.

_I fucked up, I'm just a coward, a liar!_

Chris almost crashes through the door of the bathroom and he falls to his knees in front of the toilet as he dry-heaves, self-disgust and horror flooding his body as she shakes and presses a shaky had against his chest, barely feeling the scar through his shirt.

Chris slips his hand under his shirt so he can clutch at the scar as he hunches over himself, and he remembers.

_Peter lying against him, mouthing at the scar lazily as Chris strokes his back._

_"Admiring your handiwork still?" Chris asks teasingly as Peter pulls back with a hum, and Peter looks up at him with a smirk._

_"Admiring proof that you're mine," Peter corrects smugly, and Chris pulls him up into a kiss._

_"Of course I'm yours," Chris murmurs against Peter's lips, and Peter kisses him eagerly, deeply, almost ruining it by smiling._

_He thought I knew_ , Chris realises with another lurch of his stomach. _He thought I knew, and left him anyway._

* * *

“Maybe I should—“ Allison says, but is stopped when Peter puts a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s fine. I’ll talk to him, just finish up your dinner,” Peter tells her before standing up and leaving the table.

Wincing when he hears the dry heaving he hears from the bathroom, quickening his pace Peter makes his way to the bathroom and gives a little knock.

“Chris? Chris, I’m coming in.” Peter states before opening the door and entering in it.

He stares down at the crumbled body of the Hunter, and feels something shred itself inside of his chest.

Closing the door, Peter walks over and crouches down so he can get a closer inspection of Chris’s face.

“ _Christopher?_ ” Peter says as he kneels and cups the older man’s face. “Christopher, what’s wrong?”

“I’m your mate, aren’t I? I’m your mate and I rejected you. Right when you needed me the most, I fucking turned my back on you,” Chris’s voice shakes with the realization, “You use to love teasing me with my full name. And I miss it when you don’t say it, every time I hear someone else call me by it, I feel like my skin is crawling.”

Peter stares a moment at Chris' wane face, a long held belief broken.

"You didn't know," Peter murmurs in disbelief, and Chris gives a bitter laugh.

"Didn't you use to mock how little Hunters really know?" Chris asks him as he grabs one of Peter's wrists, so he can press his face further into Peter's hand. "I missed you so much, it hurt so much, but I thought you would be safe, I thought you would get over me, I thought _I_ would get over _you_. But I couldn't, _I couldn't_."

Chris brushes his lips against Peter's palm, and Peter shudders at the feel of his mate's lips on him again.

"I always saw you," Chris admits as he closes his eyes. "Every time I had to take it, I saw _you_. It always hurt waking up in the morning, knowing it wasn't real, that it wasn't going to be you next to me, but for a while I had you back."

"Chris..." Peter trails off, he doesn't know what Chris is talking about.

"It made me want to take it every night, just to let me pretend that I was with you again," Chris keeps going, pressing a firmer kiss to Peter's palm. "I would have, I would have taken it every night to see you again, to feel you again."

“Chris, take what? What did they make you take?” Peter feels his heart start to speed up at that, because what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Take what?

“The—the drug. I don’t know what they called it, but—but it was so I could have get hard for Victoria. So I could have sex with a woman for once,” Chris tells him, wanting nothing more than for Peter to just hold him in his arms again.

“ _Christopher_ ,” Peter breathes, feeling his chest cave in on itself at those words.

The older man sniffs, rubbing his face against the soft feeling of Peter’s hands.

“I miss it when you say my name like that, no one else calls me that like you do,” Chris says mournfully.

“Chris, Christopher. My stupid, love-sick old man,” Peter pulls Chris closer to him so he can just hold this fool in his arms, “You do know what they did? You realize what your family made you do?”

Chris nods his head, “It was so I could have an heir, it’s fine, Peter.”

“ _Idiot_. They gave you drugs so your fucking _wife_ could _rape_ you!”

"I took it willingly," Chris can't muster the strength to argue properly, not when Peter is _finally_ holding him again, he just nuzzles closer to Peter. "I saw you, I always saw _you_."

"It doesn't matter how willing you took it," Peter hisses as he strokes Chris' back. "It was _rape_."

"She was my wife," Chris says as he clutches at Peter's soft sweater. "I needed to do my duty to the family, it wasn't rape."

"What? Because she was your wife then it wasn't rape?" Peter demands in disgust. "Have you never heard of _marital rape_? You didn't want to have sex with her, you had to be drugged to have sex with her, that isn't _willing_."

Peter could almost laugh at the fucking irony in the situation. Has the world really turned to shit?

First Peter gets raped by Robert, gets sent to Eichen House, his son gets _taken_ away from him and then grows up lacking a mother. Then his son gets raped by an Argent which leads to the Hale family getting murdered, and to add it all up his mate gets raped as well by his own wife.

Letting his head fall forward, Peter shakes it in anger and not wanting to believe how horrible the Argent’s and life in general has been.

“You’re not a breeding stock animal, Christopher, you’re a human being. You don’t owe your family anything! What good have they done for you? What good have they brought you! So what, they didn’t put a bullet in your dog of a boyfriend’s head because you got married to Victoria? _They lied_! They didn’t care if you married a hundred woman to protect me, you know they would have gone behind your back!”

Chris shakes his head, “You’re not a dog, Peter. You’re not a fucking dog nor are you a whore.”

“I know,” at this Peter softens, caressing Chris’s face and pulling him closer in his arms. “But what happened to you is disgusting and sick.”

Chris shakes his head against Peter's shoulder, "It wasn't that bad, I got to see you, and I got to have Allison."

Peter sighs at Chris' denial and rests his head against Chris'.

"I missed you so much," Chris mutters into the soft fabric of Peter's turtle-neck. "It wasn't enough to have you back for one night."

Peter clutches Chris closer as his mate keeps talking about being _raped_ like it wasn't a bad thing because the drugs allowed Chris to see him.

"Christopher," Peter presses a small kiss against Chris' hair and feels the older man shudder against him.

"I'm sorry I fucked up," Chris tells him, pressing closer to Peter. "I shouldn't have left, I should never have left you. Please, _please_ , I can't lose you again. I'm _tired_ of losing you again and _again_."

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter reassures him, closing his eyes as he keeps his lips pressed against Chris' hair and resisting the urge to rock them. "I'm really here."

"I know," Chris rubs his cheek against Peter's shoulder, trying to breathe in Peter's scent. "You aren't this kind after I take the drug."

"Fuck, _Christopher_ ," Peter wants to cry.

"I've fucked up again, haven't I?" Chris sighs, so tired of always fucking up, just so tired all of the sudden.

“No, no, you haven’t fucked anything up,” Peter falls into the urge he’s been holding back on since Chris first entered his den.

He kisses the Hunter like a man starved his whole life, like this is the first meal he’s had for years.

He holds Chris’s face in his hands and gently presses their lips together, greedily taking his fill of kissing his mate again. He feels whole, he feels amazing for once in his life he finally has his mate.

“Do you remember that silly name I use to call you?” Chris asks when Peter pulls away.

“Pumpkin,” Peter laughs, feeling giddy like a teenager again. “You called me your pumpkin and I hated it.”

“Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,” Chris says the rhyme, pulling Peter in for another kiss. “I missed you so much, pumpkin.”

He grabs Peter by his waist and pulls him over so he’s sitting on Chris’s lap, running his hands up the werewolf’s side and pressing soft kisses to his lips, gasping for air each time Peter pulls away.

“Don’t start something you’re not going to follow through,” Peter growls a little under his breath, watching with hazy eyes as Chris strokes his face. “And in the bathroom? We haven’t even gone a date yet, Christopher. What do you think I am?”

“My mate,” Chris says so easily that it feels like an arrow to his chest.

Peter whines as he leans down to press another kiss to Chris' lips, the Hunter pulling him closer and his hands sliding down to hold Peter's ass.

"I missed you," Chris tells him, almost gasping for breath and pressing kisses over Peter's face. "I missed you _so_ much."

"I missed you too," Peter admits as he kisses Chris again. "God, I love you."

Chris whimpers into his mouth as he slips his hands under Peter's sweater and explores Peter's back as the werewolf moans, shuddering at the feel of his mate's hands on him, and presses closer.

"I love you too, I love you, _I love you_ ," Chris keeps saying every time they break apart, and Peter can't help but keep leaning down and kissing Chris again until they’re making out like teenagers in Peter's bathroom.

A knock from the door startled them both and they’re pulling away from one another, mourning the short loss of touch they had.

“Everyone’s finished with dinner, and I’m sure the Allison and them are ready to go back home if you’re finished up in there,” Derek says with an exasperated tone to his voice.

“I—“ Peter pauses to clear his voice, blushing when he hears how husky it sounds from lust. “We’ll be out in a moment, Derek. We were just finishing up talking about some stuff.”

“Whatever you say, mom,” he can practically _hear_ the eye roll Derek is giving him right now.

“Well, that was something,” Peter chuckles, turning his head to look back at Chris.

The Hunter stares at him with this look like he wants to grab Peter again and kiss him until they’re both worn out. He blinks and then turns his head away, clearing his throat as well before standing up.

“I guess that’s my queue to leave them,” Chris says as he stands up on shaky legs.

"Yeah," Peter says as he stands, and he looks away before he decides to press Chris against the wall and keep going like they hadn't been interrupted.

Chris steps closer to him and cups his jaw, pulling him into a shorter kiss that Peter stills feels everywhere before pulling back and resting his forehead against Peter's.

"I'm going to tell her tonight," Chris promises again as he strokes Peter's cheek. "And I'm going to get the papers arranged tomorrow morning, and then tomorrow night I'm going to come back here and take you on a proper date."

"Dinner and a movie?" Peter teases, and Chris presses a short kiss to his mouth.

"If that's what you want," Chris tells him, pulling away so he can properly look Peter in the eyes. "Whatever you want, I'll give it to you."

"And if I wanted you to never leave me again, to never spend another moment apart after tonight?" Peter asks after licking his lips, and Chris almost beams at him and it's like Peter's sixteen again and Chris is still the fresh-faced twenty-year-old that Peter had boldly seduced after realising he was _his_ mate.

"Then I'll pack my and Allison's things, and come right back here," Chris presses kisses over Peter's burn-scars. "And I'll never leave you again."

"You're making it very hard for me to let you leave," Peter admits as he turns his head to capture Chris' lips again.

“Good, because I don’t plan on leaving you. Ever again,” Chris tells him, peppering Peter’s face with kisses.

“Think we could get away with a quick blowjob?” Peter smirks feeling a bit adventurous with the light and giddy feelings in the room.

“If I have to listen to you both fuck in the bathroom, I’m going to come in there with the hose,” Derek says from where he’s standing in the kitchen doing the dishes.

Peter frowns and let’s his head hit the back of the wall, “My pup is being no fun. Perhaps on our date then.”

“I forgot he could probably hear everything we said,” Chris rests his forehead on Peter’s chest, inhaling the deep, rich aroma of the younger man’s cologne.

“Mmhhh, yes, and my puppy seems really upset at the moment. I guess that means it’s time for everyone to leave so we can have pack cuddles,” Peter smirks when he hears Derek growl a little under his breath. “Come on, wash up and meet us out there.”

He gently pushes Chris into the direction of the sink, letting the older man pull him into a few more kisses before finally leaving the bathroom.

His wolf howling with joy at finally having his mate back, finally making right with all the wrongs that have happened.

* * *

He walks into the living room with a smirk on his lips, and it grows a little wider when Derek walks in and his nostrils flare.

“You stink.”

“My son, always saying the nicest things to me,” Peter chuckles and pulls Derek into a hug.

Derek squirms as Peter rubs his cheek against him and spreading the lingering scent of his lust all over Derek.

"Mom! Stop!" Derek scrunches his nose up as Peter chuckles and just hugs him tighter.

"I'm guessing we're missing something," Lydia muses while Jackson smirks at Derek while keeping Lydia between him and his da—mom.

"Oh yeah," Stiles agrees as he makes sure there isn't a stray plate left in the living room before turning to Allison and touching her arm. "You going to be okay?"

Allison gives a little laugh as she shakes her head, "Probably not for a while. God, my family is so fucked up."

"True," Stiles bites his lips because he would have added a lot more words than fucked up when it comes to the Argent family, but that isn't going to help his friend. "But hey, you still have your dad, and now you have Peter, and siblings."

"I always wanted siblings," Allison muses with a hint of a smile as Stiles pulls her into a side-hug.

"Now you got an older brother and a younger brother, and hopefully, we'll find your younger sister."

"My parents are getting a divorce and yet my family has more than doubled," Allison rests her head against Stiles' shoulder. "I don't want to go home, I don't want to see my mom. Not now I know what she's done, what she does."

"You can stay over my house," Lydia tells her, touching her arm. "Let your dad deal with Mrs Argent."

"I don't want to leave him alone with her," Allison admits quietly, she's not sure what her mom will do when Chris tells her that he wants a divorce and she's scared of leaving him alone with her.

“Okay, but if things get too rough, text me and I’ll drive as fast as I can over there with two angry werewolves at my back,” Stiles smiles.

Allison chuckles a little at his joke and Stiles pulls her in for a hug.

“Just remember, I’ve got your back,” Stiles tells her.

“Thanks, Stiles. I—after today and last night, I think I really needed this,” she tells him, wiping at the beginning of tears at her eyes.

Stiles watches as Chris walks into the living room, looking a little more grim then he had been before.

Knowing what it’s like to be in a room with Victoria for only a few minutes, Stiles can just tell the man is dreading having to speak with her again and Stiles can sympathize with that a little bit.

He’s almost tempted to give the man a hug—that thought gets choked and pushed into a dark room as he remembers the pain Peter went through.

Pulling away, Peter presses a gentle kiss to Derek’s forehead before turning to pull Jackson into a hug as well startling the teenager with the easy touch.

Jackson ducks his head with a blush when Peter pulls away and presses a kiss to his forehead as easily as he pressed one to Derek's, and he turns away while fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket.

Peter turns to Allison and barely hesitates before he pulls her into a hug as well, and Chris' face softens completely as Allison hugs Peter back before the werewolf pulls back to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Allison sniffs quickly so she doesn't do something embarrassing like bursting into tears over a kiss to her forehead, it's just—it's just she can't remember when her mother last did something like that to her.

"Well, if everyone is getting hugs," Lydia gives a huge sigh like it was a chore, but willing walked into an amused Peter's arms.

"Oh, we're going to have fun together," Peter tells her before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm looking forward to it," Lydia informs him as she steps back and turns to link hands with Jackson.

Noah comes over to Stiles and pulls him into a hug, "Try to stay out of any more trouble."

"I can make no promises, but I will try," Stiles tells him as he hugs his dad back.

"I _am_ sorry for what I said earlier," Noah says quietly, tightening his hold on his son. "And I have no problem with you being gay or bisexual, and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I would or did."

"Does this mean you're alright with Derek basically being my boyfriend?" Stiles asks as Noah finally lets him go, and Noah rolls his eyes with a sigh.

"I suppose you could have done worst," Noah teases making Stiles scowl. "Am I ready for my son to start dating? Probably not as much as I thought I was.

Am I happy that he's a werewolf? Not really, but that's because I'm still trying to get my head around this whole werewolf thing.

Do I wish you told me properly instead of accidentally blurting it out? Yes, but that's my problem.

Do I hope you wait till your legal before you do anything I _really_ don't want to know?

Yes, but I also know you know yourself and know when you are ready or not, and I also know your views on the whole age of consent thing, so I won't be surprised if you do end up doing things early."

Stiles flushes as he glances awkwardly at Derek, "We're—we're not going to rush, Derek's not ready, and we've just started this thing, and I don't want to ruin it by rushing either of us, and really, it's much too soon to think about that."

Noah claps a hand on Stiles' shoulder and squeezes it firmly, "That's good, I'm glad you're thinking these things through and not rushing anything. You have time, the both of you do."

“Thanks dad, you’re the best.”

“And don’t you forget it, kiddo,” Noah rubs at his sons buzzcut, and smirks when Stiles pushes his hands away. “Now, if you excuse me, I need to go have a conversation with Melissa.”

 _Sure, a ‘conversation’_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he watches his dad leave Peter’s apartment, Chris and the others following right after him.

“I hope everything goes okay for Allison and Chris,” Stiles says when the door shuts close.

“Me too, pup. Me too,” Peter says, coming up behind Stiles to pull him into a hug as well, smirking when a low growl starts up in Derek’s throat as he starts to rub his scent into Stiles’ hair, all over the areas Derek marked.

“Seriously,” Derek grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What? I’m not doing anything, I’m just giving my Beta a hug,” Peter smirks.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles turns from Peter’s hold to walk over to the couch and pull out the books on magic he was reading earlier.

“Sooo, I was wondering, since we’ve got the rest of the evening we could practice some magic,” Stiles says, holding the book up to his Alpha with a mischievous smile.

"Uh-huh," Peter plucks the book from Stiles' hands and flicks through it. "Well, I suppose you have been good. No arguing when it's bedtime, doing your homework, and everything."

 _He's such a mom_ , Stiles thinks with some hilarity that the big bad Alpha he had once been so frighten by the idea of turned out to be Peter, very much a mom in all respects, and who only kills people for valid reasons in Stiles' opinion.

"However," Peter says sternly as he closes the book and places it down on the coffee-table, "we're only focusing on something basic."

Stiles bites back a whine because really? _Basic?_ Sounds boring, but then again, it's basic magic so maybe it's something really badass!

"Okay, what are we starting with?" Stiles asks eagerly making Derek smiles slightly as he moves to sit on the couch and watch.

Derek has a feeling he's going to enjoy watching this.

"Since you were so obsessed with telekinesis," Peter picks up an orange from the fruit bowl on the coffee-table and tosses it lightly before putting it down on the coffee-table in front of Stiles. "Let's see if you can use this famed telekinesis on this."

"An orange?" Stiles asks with some disbelief and disappointment, and Peter gives him a dryly amused look.

"What? You didn't expect me to use something I value, did you?" Peter tsks. "The orange is light, natural and thus more likely to take to having magic cast on it, and if you drop it, the worst thing that will happen is I will need to get my rugs cleans or need to mop citrus juice off my nice wood floor."

"It makes sense," Stiles admits grudgingly. "But you said I stopped time before! This will be too easy."

Peter exchanges a smirking look with Derek before crossing his arms over his chest and standing expectantly.

"Very well," Peter encourages him. "Wow me with how easy it is."

Stiles squints at him suspiciously before turning to the innocent looking orange.

"No hard feelings for when I send you flying, right?" Stiles smirks at the orange as he flexes his hands before giving a sharp gesture as he imagines the orange flying.

The orange stays where it is, and Stiles gapes slightly before firming and giving a sharper and more grand gesture.

The orange stays stubbornly in place, and Stiles can hear the slight huff of laughter escape Derek.

"Alright, alright," Stiles straightens and nods at the orange. "You want to do this the hard way."

The orange stays in place and Peter smirks.

Stiles holds his hand out as if he was holding something and dramatically intones while imaging it appearing in his hand, "Come to me!"

The orange mocks him by not even twitching.

“Damn, they make this so much easier in Harry Potter.” Stiles frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I thought you said this was going to be easy?” Peter smirks, warning him an angry look.

Chuckling, Peter stands up and walks around to Stiles’ side, “Magic is like another muscles you have to work on before it can get easier. Since you’re a spark there isn’t really any magic spells or words you can say that’ll help you, to just have to _believe_ in yourself. Try thinking of something light or something that makes you float.”

“Believe in myself. Okay, come on Stiles, you can do this,” he tells himself focusing back on the orange before him.

 _Something light, something light_. What makes him feel light?

Light headed? No.

Fluffy and light, like pancakes?

No. Don’t think about food, Stiles, you’re just gonna get hungry again.

Light. Light. Light.

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to remember something that makes him feel light, at first he thinks about his mother’s laughter and the way they would run around in the garden barefoot and track dirt in the house.

And then his mind turns to images and thoughts about Derek, and _kissing_ Derek.

Thinks about how soft Derek’s lips are, but for the faint scrap of scruff against his skin when they kissed, thinks about Derek’s warm hands holding his and cupping his face.

“Stiles.”

He thinks about how amazing it felt to finally kiss the man, and to be held in his arms.

“Stiles!”

Stiles whips his head around to ask what the problem is, and freezes when he sees Derek floating three feet off the couch.

"I _am not_ the orange," Derek informs him grumpily, one hand gripping the back of the couch tightly.

"Well," Peter covers his mouth in an attempt to contain whatever laughter wants to escape him as he takes in his son's predicament. "At least you managed to get something to float."

"Werewolves are _not_ meant to float," Derek says firmly with wounded dignity as his mother's shoulders shake with repressed laughter.

"Oh _my_ god," Stiles finally wheezes, whatever focus he had on light and floaty feelings snap and Derek drops back onto the couch with an _oof_ , and Stiles hurries over as Peter almost bends over in laughter. "Derek! Are you alright?"

"I had a soft landing," Derek informs him flatly as he sits up and grabs Stiles' flailing hands before they actually hit him instead of hovering over him. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Derek throws his mom a wounded and angry look, and Peter straightens with a trembling smile as he comes over to check his son.

"Perhaps next time you focus more on the orange and less on my son?" Peter suggests, voice trembling with laughter, and Derek flushes as he scowls up at him and Stiles blushes with slight embarrassment.

Derek' scowl only softens slightly as Peter cards his fingers through his hair. It was unfair of his mother to use affection as a weapon when Derek is upset with him!

“Sorry,” Stiles says again, blushing when Derek squeezes his hand a little bit. “Let’s try that again.”

“This time, try not to float my son three feet off the ground,” Peter smirks.

“Right, right,” Stiles shakes his hands like he’s trying to work off his anxiety.

“Should I leave the room, so you don’t float me off to another state, or am I good?” Derek says dryly, pulling a snort from Stiles.

“Just let me try and focus, okay?”

 _Focus. Focus. God damnit, this is so hard when you have ADHD_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he concentrated on the orange.

“Can you just levitate already?” Stiles growls at the orange.

That must have been the right words to say because the orange jumps into the air, spinning a little before going completely still.

“Holy shit—I did it!” Stiles crows, throwing his arms in the air to do a double fist bump.

"Well done," Peter says to him before nodding at the orange again. "Now, try again and without getting frustrated."

It was easier the second time as Stiles actually _believed_ he could do it, and he suppose that makes the difference.

Peter made him make it float, twirl in the air and then added an apple to mix so he 'learnt to split his focus' or whatever, and that made it harder because he keeps making one or the other float while the other remains stubbornly in place and mocks him by not moving.

Thankfully for Derek's sake, Stiles remembers to keep his attention away from Derek and the memory of Derek's lips against his.

Whenever Stiles gets frustrated and makes it happen in said fit of emotion then Peter would wait for him to calm himself and do it again until he can do it without being in a fit of emotion.

 _Magic School_ , Stiles reflects as Peter places a second orange on the coffee-table, _is going to be frustrating, and a lot of practise._

"I'm seriously starting to dislike oranges," Stiles muses almost flatly as he focuses on the three fruit sitting innocently on the coffee-table and ready to mock his efforts in moving the three of them both together and separately because Peter's _tha_ t much of a taskmaster.

“Don’t worry, you’ll start to hate a lot of things when you get into more advance things,” Peter chuckles from where he’s seated, flipping through an old book.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that feeling,” Stiles grumbles as he makes the fruit levitate in a circle.

His head started hurting not long after that, and he set the fruits down a little more forcefully than he intended to.

Cursing, Stiles scrubs at his eyes feeling suddenly like a dried up raisin, only to startle when someone pokes him in the side.

“Here,” Derek says, handing over a glass of water to Stiles, and a plate of crackers and some cheese slices.

“Oh thank god. You’re amazing,” Stiles takes the glass of water and started to happily chug it all down, before eating a few pieces of cheese. “I was really starting to feel a little worn out and hungry.”

“Maybe we should take a rest for today, you spent two hours in this already,” Derek glances over to Peter.

“It was not two—“ Glancing at the clock, Stiles freezes when he sees what time it is. “What?! That didn’t feel long at all!”

Peter gets up from his chair and teases, “Time flies when you’re learning magic.”

"But I was just levitating fruit!" Stiles protests as he gawks at the time, Derek nudging him back into eating the crackers and cheese.

"And you were working hard all the same," Peter presses a kiss to Stiles' head. "I think it's an early bedtime tonight."

Stiles wants to protest, but when he opens his mouth, a giant yawn comes out instead and he pouts as Peter chuckles at him

"Finish your snack," Peter prompts as he takes the empty glass from Derek and heads towards the kitchen. "Then we'll get ready for bed."

Stiles chews slowly on his crackers and cheese, and leans slightly gleefully into Derek's side when the other teen wraps one strong arm around his shoulders.

 _It seems Peter was right when he compared magic to a muscle_ , Stiles thinks as he feels worn out as he leans more heavily into Derek.

"You're really worn out, aren't you?" Derek asks as he noses at Stiles' buzzcut, and Stiles hums as he chews on his last cracker, and Peter briefly comes in to get the empty plate to finish washing up. "Don't fall asleep here, I won't carry you to bed."

"Liar," Stiles accuses with no heat just as his phone buzzes angrily in his pocket, and he frowns as he pulls it out of his pocket. "It's Allison."

"What's wrong?" Peter says tensely from the archway, itching to get his keys and get his mate and Allison to safety.

Allison's text is short and to the point, which Stiles is both grateful for and hates because there's nothing to disguise what it says.

**Allison: Kate's here.**

Two words, but it's enough to make Stiles feel wide awake and for his stomach to drop, and make Stiles almost regret eating his plate of crackers and cheese.


	3. Chapter Three, "We go by the Code. Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassnet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings as this chapter mentions rape, flash-backs, shows scenes of self-inflicted harm and other things.
> 
> Please remember to take breaks while reading if thinks get too intense for you!

When Chris pulls down their street he immediately knows something is wrong.

Something is very wrong, and it makes his stomach churn and goosebumps rise on his skin.

There’s another car in the driveway, and just looking at it he can tell immediately who it belongs to.

Kate.

His sister, a murderous, psychopath who raped Derek and possibly countless other children, just to sneak in their den and set their house on fire.

It makes bile rise in Chris’s throat and he has to choke it back down.

His sister used to be so sweet and caring, and then Gerard had introduced her into the family business, and something had gone _vile_ inside of her.

Maybe there was always something festering inside of his little sister since she was born, something that had made her twisted and cruel when she grew older.

Chris still remembers the day she found out he was gay, it was after his own father had beaten him for getting caught kissing the neighbour’s son.

Sweet Nicolai, who ended up dead the next day with a bullet in his head. The family had moved away not that long after and for a while, it was because Chris believed it was out of grief, had thought Nicolai had shot himself.

Instead, it was his father’s way of showing what happens if Chris fell into his _sickness_.

Kate had laughed at him. She laughed and laughed until she was out of breath.

 _”Looks like you’re not the golden child anymore, huh, Chris,”_ she had jeered at him, watching as he limped into his room because his leg had been broken in at least one place, and his father refused to send him to the hospital.

There was blood gushing out of a cut on the top of his forehead so seeing was hard, but Chris would always remember the smile of Kate’s face that day, the cruelty in it, the joy out of seeing her own brother’s pain and misery.

"Dad?" Allison asks as they pull up behind Kate's car, and Chris startles out his memories to look at her, and he swallows harshly at the look of fear on her face. "That's _Kate's_ car."

"Go straight up to your room, okay?" Chris tells her, reaching out to cup her cheek and stares her right in the eye. "Don't come down unless I call you, okay? No matter what you hear."

"Dad," Allison protests, her fear disappearing under something determined, but Chris cuts her off.

"Promise me that you won't come down unless I call you," Chris says firmly, not wanting her anywhere near either Victoria or Kate if things go as bad as he fears.

Victoria and Kate _did_ love Allison, Chris is certain of that, but they loved her in _their_ own way, and love didn't stop violence in Chris' family.

"Promise me," he repeats when Allison looks at him stubbornly, and he keeps focused on her despite the outside lights being turned on which told him that Victoria is aware they are back. "Please, Allison."

It's the please that breaks her stubbornness, and she nods, and Chris doesn't even try and contain the sigh of relief leaving him as he leans forward to hug her and press a kiss to her dark hair.

"Straight in and straight up the stairs," Chris reminds her as Allison clings to him. "Lock your door, bar it if it makes you feel safer. Turn on some music if we get loud, but _don't_ come down, not unless I call for you."

There's something resigned and grim in her dad's voice as if he expects things will get _'loud'_ , and it terrifies her.

Allison had never been scared of her parents before, had never been scared of Kate, but now? Knowing the truth? She's terrified of both her mother and her aunt, and she's even more terrified at the idea of her dad facing them alone.

Chris gives her one last squeeze before pulling away and getting out of the car, locking it after Allison slams her door shut, and he wraps his arm around Allison's shoulders as they walk up to the door.

The door opens before they reach it, and Kate smiles at them.

"Well about time you got here," Kate says, eyes turning on Chris with that cruel look in her eyes. "You missed dinner, and after Victoria put so much work into it, shame on you."

 _She knows_ , Chris realises with dread.

“I got a bit caught up in conversation,” Chris watches out of the corner of his eye as Allison makes her way upstairs, shoulders hunched forward in a protective state as she moves quickly.

 _She’s safe, and that’s all that matters_ , Chris thinks to himself as he turns his line of sight back to his wife and sister.

“Was it a conversation? Or did you just miss being underneath a dog so badly? If you wanted to be a bitch, I could have gotten you a big dog for Christmas, Chris.” Kate grins at her own joke.

He’s never had such a strong urge to strangle his own sister before, but right now he certainly does.

“I’d say the same to you, _Katherine._ Would have thought you’d been skulking around the high school preying on little boys. Or do you prefer middle-schoolers?”

Victoria makes a startled face at that like it was something completely thrown out while Kate looks at him murderously.

“Oh please, at least I didn’t subject myself to being a dog bitch,” Kate rolls her eyes.

“Derek Hale would say different, of course, I think the last time you saw him was when he was thirteen.”

“You had sex with a _minor!_ ” Victoria snaps at Kate.

“He’s a werewolf,” Kate rolls her eyes, “Nothing but a dumb mutt, good for a fuck and then a bullet in his head. Don’t distract yourself from the main issue here.”

Victoria clenches her jaw as she stares down Kate, "You slept with a thirteen-year-old child."

"A mutt," Kate corrects before a cruel smirk curls her face. "Or I suppose he'd be a puppy, a horny and eager little puppy. I wonder what he looks like all grown up, probably grew in _all_ the right places, I bet he's still eager as anything though."

"Shut up!" Chris snaps and two pairs of eyes snap to him, one coldly furious and the other cruelly delighted.

"Did I hit a nerve, dear brother?" Kate taunts, leaning forward with a smirk. "Now you've become a bitch again, you want to stand up for the pup?"

"This has nothing to do with you, Kate," Chris informs her coldly as he shoulders passed her and towards the living room. "Stay out of it."

"You are my brother, Chris," Kate tells him, the casual cruelty in her tone. "I should know if you lost to your _sickness_ again."

Chris stiffens his shoulders, ignoring her, and Victoria strides over and stands in front of him, still coldly furious.

"And what is _this_ , Chris?" Victoria asks in a cold tone as Kate drops down on the couch and lounges as she keeps her gaze locked on Chris. "An excuse? An apology?"

"No," Chris steels himself as he meets Victoria's cold and furious green-eyes. "I want a divorce."

Everything becomes still and silent for that moment as Victoria almost gapes at Chris before she recovers.

 _"What did you say?"_ Victoria hisses as Kate throws her head back with a laugh.

"You're doing this for a _dog?_ To become a mutt's _bitch?_ " Kate looks so gleefully cruel as she stares at him. "This is perfect. Dad was _right_ , you _really are_ just a filthy little faggot that's willing to have anyone with a dick."

" _Katherine_ ," Victoria snaps without looking away from Chris. "Enough."

"I want a divorce, Victoria," Chris repeats, ignoring his sister.

“After all these years, and you finally grow a spine. How cute,” Victoria snarls, “I should drag this out, I should chain you to the back of the car and run you into the gravel.”

He was expecting this, he knew she was going to tear into him with her nails until he was bleeding.

“You’re a fucking disgrace to your family,” she snarls, and the words should cut into his skin like a knife, but he’s so used to this from his father that it simply goes over him like a missed shot.

“Don’t try and act like you know what this family is about, you only joined because of money and all the twisted bullshit my father fed into you. You don’t know _anything_ about the struggles I have gone through growing up in this family,” Chris grits through his teeth, “I was supposed to lead the family name but because of my sexuality I was outcasted, isolated and spit on by my own father. He couldn’t even look me in my own eyes again after he found out I was gay. But I guess you already knew that Victoria.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s funny,” Chris runs a hand through his hair, “I never did remember our wedding night, not really, I thought it was because I got blacked out drunk, but then I realized any time you wanted sex I didn’t remember a single fucking thing the next day. You used drugs on me so I could get hard, you _raped_ me. Your own fucking husband.”

“I had to do it to preserve the Argent name after you dragged it through the dirt with your whoring ways. I gave them an heir they could actually love and want, someone who could make this family like it once was.”

“You disgust me. I thought you were at least a little better, but you’re worse than my own father.”

" _You_ may never have remembered anything, but I _did_ ," Victoria snarls as she steps closer. "It was always the same thing, every _single_ time! You always called for _Peter_ ," a sneer twists her lips as she glares at him, her voice rising, "always crying out for him, always saying him how much you loved him, it was _disgusting_. It was bad enough that you were gay, I could and have ignored it, but the fact you were so in love with one of _them_?"

"So, what? Instead of punishing _me_ , you went after Peter?" Chris snaps back, fists clenching and Kate watches with eager eyes as if she is watching a gripping film. "I _know_ what you did to him."

"You couldn't leave him alone! You _wouldn't_ leave him alone! So fucking wrapped up in him! So eager to be fucked by a _mutt!_ You gave me no choice!" Victoria shouts back, hands flexing by her sides as if she was aching to slap him. "You could have known earlier! But you were a _coward!_ You supposedly loved him, and yet after I visited him, you didn't even attempt to get back in contact with him."

Chris winces, Kate leaning forward like she's smelling blood, and Victoria pushes the attack.

"I thought you'd finally stop it! That you would stop calling out for him! But it got _worse!_ " Victoria hisses the last word. "God, you always so eagerly took that drug, and I _knew_ why. You wanted to see _him_."

There's an expression of utter disgust on Victoria's face as she stares at him.

"But _I_ stayed with you, _I_ gave this family an heir, _I_ did my duty," Victoria raises her chin proudly. "All the while you longed for _him_ , it was disgusting, revolting. How desperate and _sick_ are you?"

“Sick enough to know when this sham of a marriage needs to come to an end,” Chris sneers, pulling off his wedding ring and tossing it, not caring watch it lands because all it was, was just another heavyweight on his shoulders. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving, and tomorrow I’m bringing the divorce papers. I want this to end as quickly as possible.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have you locked up in a Conversion Therapy camp. Maybe then they could fix the vile thing you are, but then again you’d probably just find your way back between the legs of your whore,” Victoria turns her head to watch the silver wedding band bounce across the floor before sliding to a stop. “Maybe I should just shoot you now and have one less faggot walking the streets.”

“How do you think Allison will feel when she wakes up the next day to find her dad killed by her mother?”

For once Victoria’s face cracks a little bit, the anger and harshness of her expression breaks into something—something almost _soft_.

“Don’t bring our daughter—“

“But she’s already been brought in,” Chris glares at Victoria, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she knows she can visit you.”

“Dad?”

Allison’s voice breaks the tension between the both of them, and Chris almost wants to yell at her for not listening to him.

“I’m ready to go,” she says, coming downstairs with two duffle bags on her shoulders.

“Okay sweetie, I just need to finish something’s up and then we can find a nice hotel to stay in,” Chris tells her, making sure not to add in the fact they were going straight to Peter’s place after this.

"Allison?" Victoria looks shocked while Kate stands with a friendly smile.

"Hey, Ally," Kate walks over to Allison's defiant form, and Chris steps forward, hating having his own sister near his daughter. "You didn't have to do a silly thing like that."

"Yes I did," Allison raises her chin as she stares down Kate, and Kate's smile twitches and becomes tight, and then the teenager looks at her mother. "I'm going with dad."

"Allison, don't do this," Victoria says as she takes a step forward. "You don't understand, you don't know what he _is_."

"I know he's gay, and there's nothing wrong with being gay," Allison says firmly and Kate steps back as her face turns into a scowl, and then she makes sure she's staring her mother straight in the eye. "You remember my friend, Karolina? From L.A?"

Victoria furrows her eyebrows in confusion as she nods, and Allison takes a deep breath.

"I kissed her," Allison declares proudly, and Kate actually hisses as she turns to scowl at her brother. "I kissed her, and I liked it."

Victoria's face freezes as she stares at her daughter while Kate rounds firmly on her brother.

"Dad shouldn't have let you _breed,_ " she hisses spitefully. "Your sickness has infected her!"

"She's perfect," Chris tells his sister before looking at Allison and tossing her the keys. "Go wait in the car."

Allison grabs the keys and leaves without a look back at her mother or aunt, and Chris turns to glare at both women.

"If either of you goes near Peter, Derek or Stiles, then I'll kill you," Chris tells them simply, and Kate shakes her head in disgust.

"You turning traitor to become a dog's whore?" Kate asks in disgusted disbelief.

"I'm turning _'traitor'_ to be with the man I love," Chris tells before looking at Victoria. "I mean it, I _will_ kill you. I know what you did, I know what you got your nurse to do, and I will not allow you to do anything like that to him or the others again."

That’s the final piece in the conversation, Chris glances at his ex-wife and then to Kate, giving them both a disgusted look before turning around and leaving, making sure to slam the door on his way out before getting into the driver’s seat of the car, he scrubs at his face in frustration before turning to look at his daughter.

“Is it true? What you said about Karolina?”

“Yeah, I uh—this was not how I wanted to come out. But I’m bisexual dad,” Allison pushes a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at her father, suddenly feeling nervous about coming out.

“You know I’ll love you either way. You’re my daughter, and I couldn’t ask for anything better,” Chris pulls her close so he can press a kiss to her forehead. “Come on, let’s go to Peter’s.”

“Do you think we could get ice cream first?” she settles back in her seat and watches as her dad starts up the car.

“We can get as much ice cream as you want, sweetie,” Chris smiles at her as he starts to pull out of the driveway.

“Thanks, you’re the best dad,” Allison smiles.

"Come on," Chris says as he drives down their old street. "We have to get enough ice cream for two werewolves, two teenagers and me."

"That sounds like a bad joke," Allison snorts as Chris smirks before becoming serious as he glances at Allison.

"Next time I make you promise to do something? Can you please do it?" Chris asks her, and Allison chews on her lips briefly before she replies.

"I'll try."

Chris huffs a laugh, "I suppose that's the best I can expect."

"Should I text Stiles for the flavours we need to pick up?" Allison asks as she pulls her phone out, opening it to the messages she's been exchanging with Stiles.

**Stiles: Are you okay? Do you need angry werewolves? The cops? A place to bury a body?**

Allison snorts at his line of questions as she replies.

**User: I'm fine, we've left the house. We're getting ice cream before we head to Peter's.**

**Stiles: Honestly, I should question if you are really Allison, but you've won me over with ice cream.**

**User: We've found your greatest weakness. ICE CREAM! Now, tell me what flavours to get everyone.**

**Stiles: Derek says he wants mint chocolate which is gross, Peter would like rocky road and I’ll take Neapolitan.**

**User: Your choices are disgusting, except Derek’s. Mint chocolate chip is superior!!**

**Stiles: Dude! I thought we were friends!! Betrayal!**

* * *

Stiles snickers as he banters back and forth with Allison on his phone, he’s lying in bed with Derek curled up against his back like a giant heater.

The older man had been dozing off for a while until Stiles woke him up to ask for an ice cream flavour, and then went back to nosing against the back of Stiles’ neck.

When Allison had first texted him about Kate being in town Stiles had freaked out when he told the two werewolves of this, he had expected Derek to break down or have a panic attack.

But the older man had remand unnaturally calm in knowing his past abuser was in town, Stiles was worried that something was going to tick him off and he was going to explode like a bomb at any given moment.

Instead, Derek had calmly left the room to have a moment in the bathroom, where Stiles paced around until Peter told him to sit down and stop putting holes in the carpet.

So he sat down and chewed on his thumbnail like he did in the past when he was having a nervous breakdown before Derek came out, his eyes looking a little red around the rims from crying, but the problem healed up pretty soon.

“I’m fine,” Derek told them both as Peter pulled him into a hug. “I’ll be fine as long as I don’t see her.”

“Trust me, the moment she comes sniffing around her I’ll be slitting her throat open,” Peter had said, nuzzling against Derek’s throat.

"Are you going to sleep through _ice cream_?" Stiles asks his wolf blanket, and Derek hums slightly as he drags his nose along Stiles' throat.

"If you're buzzing this much at the thought of ice cream then I don't know if you should have it," Derek teases, resisting the urge to nip and suck marks along Stiles' pale neck—he _knows_ Stiles would bruise wonderfully, but he's not comfortable with taking their relationship in that direction so soon, because the moment Derek sees _his_ mark on Stiles' neck, he knows his wolf will push frantically for more.

Stiles gasps dramatically, leaning back against Derek's chest as he clutches at his heart.

"The betrayal!" Stiles pretends to sob. "Oh! It _hurts!_ "

Derek snorts and nips at Stiles' ear making Stiles yelp before rolling over in Derek's arms to beam up at him.

"You _bit_ me!" Stiles says delighted, and Derek rolls his eyes.

"You're so weird," Derek informs him with a sigh, but Stiles ignores him.

"You bit me! You like me!" Stiles says in a sing-song voice as he strokes the side of Derek's deadpanned face.

"I _nipped_ you," Derek corrects in a deadpan to match his expression. "There's a difference."

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Sure, whatever you say Wolfman. Nipping is biting.”

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” Derek surmises, holding back on the smile that wants to break on his face.

“It’s like the wolf way of showing affection. Please, I’ve been reading the books Peter gave me, I know a thing or two about werewolf behaviours,” Stiles rolls his eyes, stretching his arms over his head before wrapping them around Derek’s shoulders, letting his head rest on Derek’s chest as he closes his eyes, letting the sound of Derek’s heartbeat soothe his anxiety.

Reaching up, Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair, feeling a soft rumbling start-up in his chest.

He wonders, momentarily, what Peter could be up to at this moment but then remembers when the Sheriff handed over the case files on Malia to him. Derek hopes his mother doesn’t get upset over what he finds in the folder.

Not wanting to get his hopes upon the possibility of having another sister, Derek lets his thoughts turn elsewhere.

To _Stiles._

His wonderful, intelligent mate who can sometimes be an idiot, but Derek already loves him, nonetheless.

Which is such a scary thing to think about, before he was ready to cut off contact with the human world, let himself go feral and roam through the woods.

But now after finding his mother—his _real_ mother—and having an Alpha again, while also having his mate? It doesn’t solve the years of trauma, self-loathing and guilt he’s buried himself underneath, doesn’t make those things suddenly disappear, but it does make it a little lighter to handle.

For the first time in six years, Derek actually thinks he could get to a level that's okay by other people's standards and not merely surviving and functioning.

For the first time in six years, Derek actually wants to be _okay_ , to not punish himself through killer work-outs, and to actually enjoy life.

For the first time in six years, Derek has been able to sleep two nights in a row without a nightmare, without waking up with a scream trapped in his throat, his claws buried in his own thighs as he shudders at the phantom feel of _her_ touch or is almost sick at the scent of his family's flesh burning trapped in his nose.

Derek wants to get better, wants to get better for Peter and Stiles, and yes, even himself.

He wants the terror of Stiles realising how broken he is and leaving gone or at least reduced.

He doesn't want to be trigger like earlier in front of Stiles again.

He wants to be able to _want_ Stiles without feeling the urge to throw up and claw at his skin, to not immediately think of _her_ and his father when he thinks about wanting Stiles, to not immediately believe he's just like _them_.

He wants to be able to touch Stiles without feeling like he's tarnishing or dirtying him.

He wants, he wants, and oh god, does he wish he didn't feel so guilty and greedy for wanting those things.

Stiles breaks him from his thoughts by nuzzling sleepily at Derek's chest and Derek snorts softly as he hears Stiles' absent mumble.

"Should be furry, fuzzy and soft for me to cuddle."

Derek isn't certain if Stiles means he should have chest hair—and thus stop obsessively shaving in the shower every morning—or if he's missing Peter in his Alpha-shift to cuddle.

Derek jolts when he hears a knock at the front door, so lost in the scent of his mate he hadn’t even realized the two approaching heartbeats, a growl starts up in his chest until he hears Peter moving from upstairs to the front door.

“It’s okay, Pup. It’s just Chris and Allison,” Peter tells him which settles Derek’s nerves.

Settling back down to muzzle his sleepy mate’s hair, Derek takes a moment to just inhale his scent before shaking Stiles awake, knowing that he’ll whine if he doesn’t get his ice cream now.

* * *

“Chris,” Peter says as he opens the door, taking in the sight of the broken man before him.

“Is there still a room open to us?” The Hunter gives him a weak smile that tells Peter how shitty the afternoon has been for him.

“Always,” Peter opens the door wider, “Come in and set the ice cream on the table, and I can get the other two to come to join us.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Allison smiles at the man, her hands steady as she holds the ice cream even though she was crying earlier.

"Ah, perfect," Peter peers into the bag as Chris and Allison enter with their duffle-bags. "Pint containers, a wonderful night time snack."

"Ice cream," Stiles calls as he shuffles into the kitchen, one hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes while the other is holding Derek's.

"Oh," Allison blushes as she averts her eyes away from Derek's shirtless form, the older teen wearing only boxers, and turning to Stiles wearing only a thin vest with his boxers. "You should wear short-sleeves more, you have very muscular arms."

"Thanks?" Stiles blinks sleepily at her as Derek nudges him towards the table. "But I don't, not really, not compared to the big guy over there."

Derek snorts as he grabs the bag from Peter and allows his mother to grab the spoons for everyone, "That's because I work out _a lot_."

"Something I'm hoping you'll lessen," Peter says in concern as he glances at Derek while Chris locks the door before following Allison's lead by taking a seat at the table as Derek hands out the pints of ice cream.

Derek shrugs half-heartily, not sure if he _can_ lessen his workout routine yet, and Peter thins his lips as he hands out the spoons before taking his chair—he'll have to find a therapist for them tomorrow.

Peter opens his ice cream and eyes Allison, with her red-rimmed eyes, and then Chris with his grim expression for a moment.

 _For all of us_ , Peter thinks to himself before digging into his ice cream.

He’s almost tempted to ask how the whole thing went, but Peter sees the weariness on Chris’s face and holds back on the question.

After all, Peter is feeling a bit emotionally exhausted himself from looking over Malia’s case, something about it just doesn’t sit right with him.

“Mmmh, ice cream,” Stiles mumbles pleased when Derek hands him his pint, popping the lid open for the teenager. “Thanks, Der.”

Stiles leans over and presses a chaste kiss to Derek’s cheek, causing Derek’s ears to turn red.

Allison coos at how cute the both of them are being and them snickers when Derek gives her a little glare which quickly fades when Stiles smushes his cheek against his shoulder.

Peter smiles at the sight of the two of them, the way Stiles easily gives Derek his affection and doesn’t go too far with it.

Always gentle touches and questioning eyes, because Stiles knows when to stop and when he’s allowed to do some things.

Allison gets about halfway through her ice cream before the exhaustion starts to hit her and her head starts to fall backwards with sleep.

Chris chuckles, at his daughter, “I think maybe it’s time to go to sleep, huh, sweetie?”

“Mmm—tired,” Allison mumbles in agreement.

Peter gets up and takes their pints of ice cream to put away before coming back into the room, “Let me show you to your rooms.”

Stiles watches as the three of them leave before turning to look up at Derek, “I guess that means it’s time to go back to bed, huh, Der?”

Derek nods as he puts their ice cream away, and throws their spoons in the sink as Stiles stands up and stretches before holding out his hand for Derek.

Derek rolls his eyes, but easily slips his hand into Stiles' and tugs him back towards Peter's room.

He almost pauses when he realises that Peter has put Allison in the room that Laura always used whenever she came to visit Peter though she never stayed over like Derek and Cora would.

Derek and Cora had rooms especially for them, Derek more than Cora though, and Laura's room always held the feel of being a guestroom more than an actual bedroom.

Derek listens for a moment and hears his mother and Chris moving further in the apartment, and continues to tug Stiles to Peter's room and back to bed.

Stiles sighs happily as he snuggles into the bed as Derek pulls the covers over them before Derek pulls Stiles into his arms, and Stiles nuzzles against his chest.

"Night, Sourwolf," Stiles murmurs, and Derek snorts as Stiles wraps his arms around him.

"Night," Derek mutters as he closes his eyes, relaxing some into the scent of sleepy contentment and mate while adjusting to two more heartbeats in the den.

* * *

“Here’s your room,” Peter says, opening up the door to one of the guest rooms that he didn’t let Laura or Cora have when they were still alive. “I cleaned up the dust earlier so it should be nice and cleaned up.”

Chris looks around the room, it’s almost vacant except for the bed, closet and a nightstand.

“It’s better than anything I would have had tonight,” Chris says, setting his duffle bag down on the bed and then turning to look at Peter. “Turning in for the night?”

“I was thinking about having a glass of whiskey, I have a nice old one I’ve been wanting to try, but then I was in a coma for six years. Hopefully, the flavours have gotten a little more luxurious since then,” A smirk grows on Peter’s face, “Why, can Ī interest you in a drink, Christopher?”

“That sounds really good right about now,” Chris smiles, kicking off his shoes and jacket before following Peter to the study.

“Good. Because I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

Chris snorts as he takes a seat in one of the leather chairs facing the desk, gazing around the study with its outdated computer— _no doubt Peter will be replacing it first chance he has,_ Chris thinks with some fondness—a wall completely covered by a custom bookcase and the study dominated by the stately heavy wood desk the computer sits on.

Peter's antique drinks cabinet sits between two heavy wooden filing-cabinets—Peter always preferred wood over metal whenever he could get away with it—and Chris isn't surprised by the array of bottles of whiskies and such on the shelves nor the crystal tumbler glasses Peter pours the whiskey into.

 _Peter always had expensive taste in the things he liked to indulge and surround himself with_ , Chris remembers the hotel they stayed in that was more expensive than the motel Chris would have chosen but had become _their_ place, with _their_ room, and it hurts that Victoria had ruined that for them by attacking Peter there.

"I think we both earned this," Peter says as he hands over one of the tumblers and takes a moment to savour the smell of his whiskey before sipping it.

Chris snorts as he sips the whiskey, making sure not to down it as he's tempted to do as he well remembers Peter's disbelief and horror of him doing that in the past.

_"Whiskey is meant to be savoured, Christopher! Not thrown back like cheap vodka!"_

“If you need any help with the divorce papers, you know I can find someone to get them ready by tomorrow. And if you need a lawyer, I have a handful that’ll make sure you get everything you need,” Peter tells the Hunter, sipping on his glass as he walks around the desk to lean against the front of it.

“Thank you. Again. For everything you’ve done so far, for me and Allison.”

The werewolf rolls his eyes at that, “There’s no need to thank me, Christopher.”

The older man chuckles a little, “Just like you’re old self, you use to hate it when I thanked you for anything.”

“Well, it got quite annoying when you kept doing it after every little thing,” Peter scoffs.

“I missed this. The easy banter we always had going on between us, I-I missed you so much,” Chris looks at his glass and then swallows the rest of it down in one go, hissing a little at the after taste.

"Haven't I told you a hundred times before that you are meant to savour whiskey?" Peter sighs and Chris stands up and places the tumbler on the desk. "I have coasters too."

"I missed you," Chris ignores his complaints as he moves to stand in front of Peter and rests his hands on the desk and flanking Peter's hips. "I missed you so much."

"One glass isn't enough to get you drunk," Peter muses as he places his tumbler on a coaster, moving Chris' empty glass onto another one before he loosely wraps his arms around Chris' neck. "You've become sappy."

"Maybe," Chris leans his head against Peter's. "Is there something wrong with that?"

Peter huffs and he moves so his lips hover over Chris', "I suppose I can get used to it."

They move to the small two-seater couch Peter had squeezed into his study and keep drinking.

Chris gets drunk on the third glass, and Peter snorts at the drunken smile Chris gives him after downing his third glass.

The man’s head rolls to the side and he smirks up at Peter, something akin to what the older man used to do when he was planning on fucking Peter.

“Come here, pumpkin,” Chris tries to get up from the couch, but a hand pushes him back down.

“You’re drunk. And here I thought you would have at least lasted a little longer,” Peter tells him, running his hand up Chris’ shirt and stroking down the side of his face.

“I love you,” The older man leans forward to press a kiss to Peter’s hand before turning to rub his face against the soft texture of Peter’s turtle neck.

“You’re a drunk, sad old man you know that Christopher?” Peter teases, his smile slipping off his face after a while. “A drunk old fool that still has my heart.”

“I miss those lips,” Chris goes on like Peter hadn’t spoken before, “God _those lips_. Always so fucking amazing, I want them around my—“

“And you’ve lost it.”

Peter snickers as Chris’s head falls back against the couch, the older man chuckles and then presses another kiss to Peter’s palm.

“Come now, Christopher, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

"With you?" Chris asks as he tugs at Peter's hand, wanting the younger man on his lap. "I missed you, missed holding you, missed _fucking_ you."

"By yourself," Peter informs him, humouring the older man by settling on Chris' lap with a small shudder as Chris' hands run up and down his thighs. "You've become a lightweight since we've parted, you're drunk."

"Drunk on you," Chris informs him in a drunken serious tone as he reaches up to cup Peter's jaw, rubbing along Peter's cheekbone with his thumb. "God, I missed you."

"I missed you too," Peter captures Chris' hand and presses a kiss to Chris' palm, and Chris smiles drunkenly up at him before pulling the younger man into a whiskey tasting kiss.

Peter can't help the way he melts into Chris and his kiss, can't help the way he loops his arms around Chris' neck as Chris' hands slip under his sweater and explores Peter's hot skin with a groan.

Peter pulls back with a gasp, "Chris, you're drunk."

"Want you, missed you," Chris tells him as tugs at Peter's turtle-neck. " _Please._ "

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Chris rubbing against Peter’s thigh, “Or let me fuck you, I don’t care. I just want you so badly.”

“And you have me,” Peter presses a chaste kiss to Chris’s lips, “But only when you’re sober.”

With that, Peter straightens and then puts a hand under Chris’s legs and back so he can carry the man bridal style back to the guest room.

He feels light in his arms, and Peter knows it’s from his supernatural strength, but he still finds it adorable how soft Chris looks in his arms.

The older man rubs his cheek against Peter’s shoulder, and the Alpha wonders briefly if he can convince the man to grow his beard out.

He’s positive Chris would make an excellent Silver Fox.

Setting the snoring man in the guest bed, he runs his fingers through Chris’s hair before moving to pull off the man’s pants so he can sleep more comfortably.

Pressing a kiss to Chris’s forehead, Peter shuts the door before making his way back to the master bedroom, smirking when he sees Stiles and Derek curled up with one another.

“My sweet pups,” Peter says to himself, getting into bed as well, making sure his arm is covering both of the younger men so he can scent mark them while going to sleep.

* * *

Part of Noah just wants to go home, have a glass of whiskey and then go to bed. There's been enough bombshells, enough serious and emotional discussions, and enough things are not said that he wants to rest.

But he had been serious about the fact that Melissa needed to be talked to about Scott, about his attitude problem at least, and most likely about his more furrier problem that Noah doubts she knows about.

He pulls up in front of the McCall's house and he braces himself for the uncomfortable talk ahead of him before he leaves his car, and makes his way up the familiar path.

How many times had he taken this path to pick Stiles up after a sleep-over or drop him off when he needed to go into work and Stiles was still too young—and prone to anxiety attacks—to be left home alone?

This house seemed to become as much as home to Stiles as their own house as the rest of Stiles' friends drifted while Scott remained at his side.

Noah remembers being glad that Scott stuck by Stiles through Claudia's death, thought it said something good about him to be so loyal to a new friend, but then he watched Jackson and Stiles tonight, how easily they fell back into their friendship and it makes him wonder.

He remembers when they were younger and friends, how Jackson always clung tightly to Stiles whenever he had to go home.

He remembers the number of times he had gone to check on Stiles in the middle of the night and somehow Jackson had made his way from the Whittemore house across town to their house and was cuddled around Stiles' sprawled body.

And now it makes him wonder how such a strong friendship between the two boys had faded, wonders if Scott didn't have more to do with it than he thought, and he wonders why he had been so convinced it was because Jackson couldn't cope with Claudia's death that he stayed away.

If anything, Claudia's sickness and death should have made Jackson cling harder.

Shaking his mind of memories, Noah knocks on the front door and waits for Melissa to answer.

“Noah? It’s a little late to be coming around here, did Stiles’ Jeep break down again?” she jokes, but it falls flat between the both of them when Noah doesn’t laugh.

“Hey Mel, think I could come in? We’ve got a few things to talk about.”

“Should I pull out the glasses for wine?”

Noah chuckles and nods his head, “Oh yeah, we’re gonna need quite a few glasses after this.”

Melissa smiles and leaves to the kitchen to grab them some glasses and a bottle of wine, before coming back to the living room where Noah is already sitting down.

“So what did you want to talk about?” she asks, taking a sip of her own wine.

“It’s about Scott.”

There should be some surprise on Melissa's face, shock maybe, but instead there's something resigned as she looks down at her wineglass.

"What happened?" Melissa asks quietly, glancing towards the stairs as if she could see up them and up to where Scott is.

"You're not surprised," Noah points out as he watches her, and Melissa's shoulders slump.

"He's different," she admits to him. "I thought he was doing drugs, but I couldn't find any. I even asked Stiles, but he promised that Scott isn't on drugs, but I don't know what else it could be. He's so angry at times, and he put a hole through his wall Monday after Allison broke up with him."

Melissa sets her glass down and scrubs at her face, "I don't know what to do, Noah."

Noah rubs his hand over his mouth, unsure what to say and realising she didn't know that her son is now a werewolf.

"This isn't going to make you feel better," he says gruffly, deciding to shelf the werewolf reveal for a moment. "Has Scott said anything to you about Stiles?"

"Scott doesn't talk to me anymore," Melissa admits. "Not unless I corner him and make him talk."

“I see,” Noah takes a sip of his wine, “Well Stiles came out to me today as bisexual, and I was a little rude about it, but Lydia corrected me.”

“Lydia Martin? Stiles’ crush?”

Noah snorts at that, “Not a crush anymore because he has a boyfriend now.”

Melissa smiles at that, “I’m glad someone appreciates that boy. Is that what you came here for? To talk about your son being bisexual or...”

“Scott said some nasty things to Stiles when he came out.”

Melissa brings a hand up to her mouth, “No. _No_ , Scott would—what did he say?”

“He called Stiles a slut apparently,” Noah feels his heart ache when he sees the horrified look on Melissa’s face before it slowly turns into anger.

“Scott did what!?”

Melissa looks like she's going to march out up the stairs and pull Scott out of his room by his ear, but she calmed herself and looks at Noah almost pleadingly.

"Please tell me he at least did this privately," Melissa begs, and Noah grimaces which makes Melissa closes her eyes in despair. "How?"

Noah only knew the full story because Lydia had pulled him aside briefly to lay it out in brutally honest terms as well as Scott's attack on Stiles earlier today.

"It was during lunch," Noah tells her grimly, and Melissa's lips thin. "Apparently, Jackson and Lydia were teasing Stiles with doing a double date with the two of them acting as Stiles date with Scott and Allison. Scott had some words about _that_ before saying Stiles isn't gay which made Stiles feel like he had to correct Scott by saying he's half-gay actually before properly coming out as bi."

"Half-gay?" Melissa gives a snort. "Only he would come out with something like that."

"Yeah," Noah lets out a ghost of a smile. "Everyone was really accepting, apparently they already knew," not that Noah even suspected a thing, "apart from Scott."

“I just don’t know what’s going on with him anymore,” Melissa sniffs, downing the rest of her wine before setting it down so she can hold her head with her hands, shoulders dropping with sadness as she realizes she’s losing her son. “Sometimes I think, that’s my son. And other times it just—it just feels like he’s Rafael.”

Noah feels something akin to fury burn inside of his chest at that name.

“I know Scott is going through some things, maybe it’s teenage angst or something else. But I promise you he is nothing like that man,” Noah gets up so he can walk over and sit on the couch with Melissa, pulling the woman into his arms for a hug.

“I just want to know what’s going on,” Melissa sobs, curling up against Noah’s chest and letting the waterworks out.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually, Mel,” Noah rubs her back, telling himself that he needs to speak with Peter about this tomorrow.

Melissa needs to be told, not only for her mental health and emotional health but also so she realised just what type of danger she is in.

Noah thinks of how Scott attacked Stiles, and he worries what Scott would do if Melissa stepped on one of his landmines and he exploded. Scott could do a lot more damage to Melissa than Rafael ever did, and Noah hates that he has to view Scott as a real threat to both Stiles and Melissa now.

"Knowing he said that to Stiles?" Melissa scrubs at her eyes. "I wish I didn't believe it was true, I wish I could say that my son would never say anything like and certainly not to _Stiles_. God, I don't know where he even got an idea like that from. I certainly didn't raise him to believe anything like that, and it is worse, isn't it? Worse than what you've told me. This could have been done over the phone."

Noah grimaces, he had hoped she wouldn't question him to deeply, and Melissa gives a groaning sob as she looks at his face.

"What did _he_ do?" Melissa asks him, and Noah sighs deeply as he reluctantly answers, he didn't want to cause her more pain, but she had the right to know.

"He physically attacked Stiles today," Noah informs her and Melissa covers her mouth in horror. "Stiles went to Allison's house the night before to comfort her about the break-up. Scott accused Stiles of, I don't know, trying to steal or something? Maybe turn her against him. Stiles, well, Stiles corrected him, and Scott didn't like what he said and slammed him against the wall."

"How badly was he hurt?" Melissa asks immediately. "He didn't go to the hospital, I would have known."

"He hit his head, caught it at a funny angle so it bled a lot, but that's head wounds," Noah tries to reassure her. "The nurse said he was fine, and sent him home. Stiles' boyfriend picked him and brought him to the apartment he's sharing with his uncle."

 _His mother actually, who is a man_ , Noah corrects in his mind and almost wants to shake his head at the craziness in his life now.

And he also mentally ignores the fact that the nurse that sent him home is a crazy evil Hunter, who tortured and accepted money for others to rape Peter while he was in his coma.

He'll be looking into it, looking into the whole place because Peter probably wasn't the only victim being taken advantage off by the nurse. He's just the only one that's been able to speak about it so far.

“God...”Melissa shakes her head, “I think I’m going to need the whole bottle after this.”

“I’ll help you drink it all. Don’t you worry about that, because after meeting Stiles’ boyfriend I need a drink,” Noah fills their glasses.

“Is he that bad?”

“No. And that’s the worst part, he’s _nice_.”

Melissa giggles at that and sips her wine glass, “Okay, Stilinski, lemme hear the shit talk you’re about to throw down.”

"Where do I start?" Noah asks as he shifts back onto his own seat-cushion more.

"How about his name?" Melissa asks as she watches Noah with a small smile.

"Oh, you'll love this," Noah sighs deeply. "It's Derek Hale."

"Derek Hale? As in the Derek Hale, you arrested on murder because of our boys? _That_ Derek Hale?" Melissa asks with an incredulous tone to her voice, and Noah sighs again as he nods making Melissa laugh. "How the hell did it go from Stiles getting him arrested to having Derek as his boyfriend?"

"Trust me, I have no idea," Noah shakes his head as he takes a sip of his wine. "But somehow he's managed it."

"And the problem is he's _nice_?" Melissa asks still with that incredulous tone to her voice. "Nice isn't the word I think of when I saw him around town. He looks more like a bad boy or boy gone wrong or something like, but you're telling me he's nice."

“I’d say more like a Danny Zuko rip off,” Noah rubs at his chin, “Or maybe the villain character from those 80s horror flicks.”

“Like Lost Boys?”

Noah snorts at that, _Well he’s not a vampire, but close enough._

“Sure, except less blood-sucking and sleeping in abandoned caves,” Noah takes a sip of his wine again. “He’s apparently looking into college classes again and finding a therapist to see. Says all the right things, yes sir, no sir, thank you.”

“Sounds like his mother raised him right.”

Noah winces a little at those words when he remembers Peter explain what Talia had done to him.

“More like his uncle,” he corrects.

Melissa gives him a look like she knows there’s more to what he’s saying, but doesn’t push, “Well if he needs help with finding a therapist, give him my number I know some good ones. Oh, and tell Peter that he needs to bring his ass to the hospital to have his check-up! A man who woke up from six years of coma shouldn’t be walking around so much, and needs to have a physical done.”

"I will tell him, but I don't think he's going to be fond about going back to a hospital," Noah warns her making Melissa give a slight huff despite her understanding look.

"He still needs one," she says stubbornly, and Noah doesn't argue against that.

Melissa gives him a look as she tops up their wine, "You're fine with the age difference between Derek and Stiles?"

Noah leans back in his chair as he looks at Melissa evenly for a moment.

"How old do you think Derek is?" Noah asks her curiously, and Melissa frowns slightly.

"Twenty-one? Twenty-two?" Melissa shrugs. "In his early twenties at least."

She's curious about the question and curious about the fact Noah was more upset about Derek being nice than the age difference between them. To Melissa, that seems to be the glaring issue.

"Derek will be turning twenty in December," Noah informs her making her eyes widen in surprise. "And that's long after Stiles turns eighteen, so no, I'm not worried about the age difference or Stiles pressuring him into sex—Stiles is being very respectful about Derek's limits."

"He's nineteen?" Melissa asks in disbelief. "He looks older."

Noah grimaces, yeah, that's probably been a problem for Derek since he hit puberty.

He remembers the stories Claudia shared of school days with Peter, Peter who had only been two years younger than his peers but looked their age, and how easy it was for people to forget about his actual age, and he figures Derek had to deal with the same when he followed his mother's lead in skipping grades.

"Wait," Melissa frowns over her glass at Noah, "you think _Stiles_ would have pressured Derek into sex? Not the other way round?"

Noah almost winces, he shouldn't have added that.

"Derek is very aware that Stiles is a minor," Noah finally says making Melissa's eyes narrow slightly.

"You're more concerned with Stiles pushing for sex than Derek," Melissa says as she watches him, and Noah grimaces. "You said that Stiles is respecting his limits."

“Noah, what aren’t you telling me?”

Clearing his throat, Noah glances around like he’s afraid of someone popping out from around the corner and then looks back at Melissa.

“I shouldn’t be handing this information out, but...”

“But?” she raises an eyebrow at him.

“Derek was a victim of rape and abuse when he was in high school.”

Melissa pauses at that, “In high school before the fire-that was six years ago that means he was—Oh. Oh my god, he was—“

“A child. Only thirteen-years-old when it happened,” he finishes for her, seeing the broken look that crosses over her face at the news.

“He was barely even a teenager when that happened! Who could have—“

“You know I can’t tell you that, it would breach the confidential agreement I have with Peter,” Noah shakes his head.

“At least tell me you’re going to find the person and put them behind bars.”

"Oh, I'm going to build a case against them," Noah reassures her in a grim tone. "I don't think Derek is their first or last victim."

He agrees with Stiles' thoughts about the Hale Fire, how it seems practised and how easily Kate Argent arrayed things so it could be classed as an accident screams she had done it before, she knew just who to bribe to look the other way.

Noah hates that he has to look at his deputies in suspicion, especially those that had worked beside him under the previous Sheriff, but he can't take the chance that the Argent's had left someone in place in case Noah did look into the fire.

Which, unfortunately, will make things go slower as Noah looked for similar fires and 'accidents' involving whole families with a young teenage or preteen son in the surrounding area and state.

Noah dreads having to expand his search outside his state, and wonders if he should look into bringing in some new blood that wouldn't have any connection to Beacon Hills and the Hale's, and shouldn't be working for the Argent's.

He knows he has to bring some of his deputies in, he needs to if he wants to gather enough evidence to put Kate Argent away whenever she surfaces back in Beacon Hills, but he doesn't know who to trust.

It's something he'll have to talk to Chris about, he needs to know who in his county is on the take when it comes to the Argent's.

"Good," Melissa says fiercely as she grips her glass. "They deserve all they get, I hope you make sure their future prison buddies know just how young they like their victims."

Melissa isn't naïve, she knows just what happens to child molesters in prison, and she thinks whoever raped a thirteen-year-old child deserves every painful moment of it.

“Trust me, I won’t let them get away with this. Not again,” Noah grumbles, sipping on his wine again.

Melissa holds her glass out and Noah graciously pours her another full glass of wine.

The two of them settling into the silence for the moment, two very tired adults having a glass of wine.

Before Noah can get to his third glass, Melissa is snatching it from his hand and giving him a look.

“You still have to drive home, Noah,” she tells him, standing up and walking to the kitchen so she can put their empty glasses in the sink.

Huffing, Noah glances at his watch and frowns when he sees how late it is.

“Yeah, I guess I better head home, I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”

"I suppose it's too late to talk to Scott," Melissa rubs at her eyes. "I don't know if I want to talk to him before school and accidental cause him to lash out against Stiles or if I should wait till after school, at least then he can't blame Stiles."

"I'd wait till after school," Noah stands and stretches slightly. "That way he can't try and get out of it by claiming he's late."

"True," Melissa lets her shoulders slump as she turns to look at where Noah is standing in the doorway. "I am so sorry for what he's done, can you tell Stiles that?"

"You don't have to apologise for him, Mel," Noah tells her firmly, and Melissa sighs as she leans back against her sink with her arms crossed almost defensively.

"I feel like I have too," Melissa admits, not adding she had felt this way before with Rafael and how she hates that it's her own son making her feel this way.

"This isn't your fault," Noah walks over to her and curls his hands around her arms and looks her firmly in the eye. "What Scott said and did, it isn't your fault. It's his own fault, it's his own actions that led to this. Neither Stiles nor I thought for one second that it's your fault."

"Stop, you're going to make me cry, and I think I've cried enough tonight," Melissa sniffs lightly before hugging Noah. "Thank you, and I am still sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Noah hugs her tightly. "I thought it would be better coming from me."

"Instead of the school or another cop," Melissa finishes for him, squeezing him one last time as she pulls back. "You were right, I'm glad you told him. Horrified that you had to tell me something like that, but well."

"Yeah, I know," Noah gives her a ghost of a smile making Melissa twitch her lips back in a weak smile.

"Come on, I'll see you out," Melissa wraps her cardigan more firmly around her as she escorts Noah to the door and watches him get into his cruiser before she shuts and locks the door, and heads upstairs.

Melissa pauses outside of Scott's room and softly pushes open the door slightly, only to open it completely and sigh as she takes in the completely empty room.

* * *

_It’s almost like he can hear the cruelty of her laugh again. The way she stood over him after everything was finished and just laughed at him when he came too early_

_”You’re a stupid little mutt aren’t you. So horny you can’t even last that long,” she cackled._

_Derek had thought that was love. Mocking laughter, nails breaking his skin, being tied up to the bed and used like a fucking toy. He thought love was sneaking around his family’s back and making promises to keep their relationship a secret_

_He thought he was mature enough for this, thought he knew better. He was thirteen and in high school, top of his class. Derek thought he could date an older woman._

_But he was so fucking wrong. She tore into him, she shredded him open and laughed. Called him names that he thought were loving at first until it become cruel and vile, flaying open his skin every time she said them._

_”Wanna have some fun tonight, Sweetie?”_

_”No. Please Kate, I don’t want to play tonight.”_

_She rolled her eyes, “Stop being such a baby, I thought you were mature enough for this, Derek. I guess I can just find some other silly boy then, one who can handle being with a woman.”_

_”No, Kate. I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good.”_

* * *

Derek howls in pain as the memories start to flood back into his mind. The pain, **the pain.**

He howls as he remembers the pain of _her_ nails in his skin, the way he seemed to burn as _she_ dug them in cruelly and how it took too long for them to heal for what _she_ did.

_"That's it, Sweetie, just like **that** ," she groans as Derek bucked under her, tries to squirm away from the pain of her nails digging into him as blood trails down his chest._

"Derek?"

_"You're hurting me," Derek had gasped, whimpering, and she just kept moving, eyes watching his blood staining his chest and stomach with dark eyes filled with lust and satisfaction._

"Shit! Derek!"

 **_"You love it,"_ ** _she told him, clenching around him and pulling a whine from his lips, and she moaned as she licked his blood from her fingers. "Can you feel how hard you are?"_

"Derek, Derek, you have to wake up."

_Derek shook, shaking his head, and Kate pressed a blood-stained kiss to his lips before leaning back and just using him._

"Pup? Pup, wake up."

_"Should I bring in my toys next time?" she teased as her nails dig into his forming abs. " **Really** make you cry out for it."_

* * *

**"Wake up!"**

Derek's eyes snap open at his Alpha's order and he cuts off his howl with a startled whimper before lurching out of the bed, his legs collapsing under his weight and sending him crashing to the floor as he gasps and heaves dryly against the floor.

"Derek?"

Derek shudders as he rubs roughly at his skin, claws popping as he scratches desperately.

He can feel _her_ touch, can feel _her_ hands _everywhere._

"Derek!?"

"Stay back, Stiles."

"But—"

"I _know_."

Derek scratches at his chest, his stomach, over his abs where _she_ always licked up his blood off afterwards with a groan.

Soft and firm hands grip his wrists, the scent of Alpha and _Mom_ chase away the clogging smell of _her_ perfume.

"Derek," Peter says firmly. "Look at me."

“No-no, I don’t want to do this anymore, Kate. Please, you’re hurting me!” Derek sobs, his hands covered in his own blood as he keeps clawing at himself.

“Pup, please—“ Peter grabs Derek’s hands and keeps them in a vice-like grip so his son can’t hurt himself anymore. “Pup, you’re hurting yourself and me, please stop.”

“No—no—I was bad. I was _bad_. I deserve to be punished.” Derek cries, his eyes wild and far away as he stares off in the distance.

“Derek, don’t make me use my Alpha voice. I don’t want to hurt you, Pup, just come back to me,” Peter pulls him closer in his arms.

“M- _Mom_?” Derek stutters the words, blinking himself awake.

“Yes,” Peter almost cries with relief. “Yes, it’s just me, Pup. It’s just me and Stiles.”

“Mom, it h-h-hurts. I-I was so stupid to trust—to trust her,” Derek breaks down, “I killed them-I k-k-killed them.”

"No, no you didn't," Peter pulls Derek into his arms, pressing a kiss to Derek's sweaty hair. "You didn't kill anyone, okay? It was all her fault."

"B-but I-I _trusted_ her," Derek sobs into Peter's neck. "I-I t-told her."

"She would have found out in another way," Peter strokes his back as Stiles comes closer. "It's not your fault, you didn't kill anyone."

Stiles lowers himself and scoots closer to Derek, only hesitating a moment before placing a hand on Derek's shoulders.

Derek freezes before shuddering as he moves to pull Stiles into him, and turning everything into a tangle of limbs until Derek's pressing his back to Peter's chest and cuddling Stiles against his own bloody chest as he buries his nose against Stiles' neck and breathes in the calming scent of his mate while his mom curls around his back and hugs the two teens.

"It's not your fault," Peter repeats as he nuzzles against Derek's hair. "You were a child, pup, it wasn't your fault."

Derek feels tears streaming down his cheeks as Peter comforts him, tears sliding down and falling on to Stiles’ warm skin. His mate turns around in his arms and buried his face against his throat.

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles tells him softly against his chest.

Derek breakdown a little at that, not as harshly and demeaning as before. But gentle. Tears cascading down his cheeks as he clings to Stiles’ body and lets himself cry.

Because it _hurts._

Derek had said he was fine early, said he could handle to the knowledge that Kate was back in town. But that was a lie.

She haunts him in his memories and dreams, he just wants to live in peace, but she still finds a way to come back and tear her claws into him over and over again.

He remembers the way she touched him, and it makes him sick, remembers the way she—she—

“Derek, Derek it’s okay,” Stiles gently cups his face, wiping away the tears on his face while softly shushing him.

“Don’t let her hurt me again,” Derek sobs, “Don’t let her touch me.”

"She'll never touch you again," Stiles promises him, heartbeat steady. "I won't let her."

"I'll tear her throat out myself," Peter swears as he hugs Derek, pressing his lips against Derek's hair. "I'll rip her arm off and beat her with it."

Stiles snorts at that as he strokes Derek's cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs, and Stiles presses a kiss against Derek's forehead, so gently and caring that Derek can't help the wounded sound leaving him as he pulls Stiles into his arm and nuzzles against Stiles' hair.

"Do you want to have a shower, pup?" Peter asks as he strokes down Derek's arm with one hand while holding Derek and Stiles close to him.

Derek grimaces as he realises the blood and the cold sweat all over him, and nods slightly while holding Stiles even closer.

Peter presses a kiss to Derek's hair, "You stay here, okay? I'll start up the shower for you."

Derek bites back a whine as Peter pulls away from them, and holds Stiles tighter, burying his face against Stiles' throat in comfort.

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, smiling as the older man finds comfort in his arms. The werewolf snuffles against his throat and whines a little before curling up further against his chest.

“I’ve got you, Der,” Stiles tells him gently, stroking Derek’s hair and down his back a little bit.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Derek says, a little muffled against Stiles’ shoulder.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I’d rather make sure you’re okay than to sleep,” Stiles says softly.

“But—“

“Derek, seriously it’s fine. You had a panic attack, I think you deserve some comfort right now.”

Nodding his head, Derek chooses not to argue with his mate and instead inhales the comforting scent Stiles brings him.

Peter comes into the room a moment later, announcing the bath is done. But Derek isn’t yet ready to part with his mate, however, he smells awful and doesn’t think Stiles wants to join him in the bath.

Which is probably a lie, Stiles would love to get his fill of Derek’s naked body, but Derek just—isn’t ready for that.

Stiles pulls himself out of Derek's arms and smiles at him as Derek ducks his head and pulls himself up and off to Peter's bathroom.

"Want me to help you change the sheets?" Stiles asks as he stands with a stretch, and Peter glances towards the sweaty sheets and nods. "I'll strip off the sheets while you get new ones?"

"Thank you," Peter says quietly before leaving the room, and Stiles begins to strip the bed of all the sheets and stuff.

Peter comes in with clean sheets and glances in surprise as he realises Stiles had completely stripped the bed without any help, "You're quick."

"Eh, I suppose," Stiles shrugs as he bundles up the dirty sheets and all, and he throws them into the corner for now. "Need help?"

"I'm always open to help," Peter says as he grabs the mattress sheet from his bundle, and together they remake the bed in silence as Peter keeps most of his hearing focused on Derek.

* * *

When Stiles steps out of the room to take the dirty sheets to the washing machine, and he freezes when he sees Allison standing outside of the hallway. She looks nervous and almost terrified as she glances inside of the room.

“I heard howling. Like actual wolf howling,” She says, fidgeting with her hands.

“Derek had a nightmare. The news of Kate being back in town kind of fucked him up,” Stiles explains, jerking his head slightly to motion for her to follow him.

“I feel so bad. Like I know I didn’t actually hurt him, but all the things my family did to just him and Peter. It makes it sound like they were dealing with wild animals, not humans,” Allison says as she follows along with him. “I was listening to their conversation at home, and Kate just openly admitted she fucked a minor. But then she talked about him like he—he was _a dog_. What kind of fucked up person thinks like that!?”

“I would say it’s hunters, but—humans have always done things like that in history. So hunters basically followed their lead and used it like it was a good excuse when really it’s not,” he shoves the sheets in the washer and measures out the detergent. “It shouldn’t matter what their skin colour is or if they’re a monster of the night, a human is a human. They all have the same emotions.”

“Humans are kind of tucked up, huh?” Allison leans against the wall and scrubs at her face. “God, I’m the daughter of a bunch of psychopaths.”

Turning to look at the other teenager, Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it trying to figure out what the right thing is to say.

“Allison, don’t think like that. Yeah, your mom and aunt and grandpa, and maybe some others have done shitty things. But you can still change how you want to live your life. You’re only seventeen-years-old, you’ve got a whole life to still live.”

"I don't want to be like them," Allison admits as she watches Stiles stuff the sheets into the washing machine after throwing a washing 'tablet' into.

"You're nothing like them," Stiles reassures her as he shuts the door and presses the buttons. "Look, the fact you don't want to be like them says that you are nothing like them, okay? If you were anything like them then you wouldn't care about what they've done, or feel bad about things that have nothing to do with you."

"I suppose you're right," Allison sighs, and Stiles leans against the wall beside her and nudges her.

"Of course I'm right," Stiles tells her making her smile slightly before her gaze drops and she grimaces slightly.

"You realise your vest has blood on it, right?" she asks, making Stiles blink at her in something like confusion before glancing down and cursing at the streaks of blood on his vest.

"Shit," Stiles grimaces as he tugs the vest off and glaring at the washing machine in betrayal as the sheets begin to spin and wash. "Fuck, I suppose it'll have to go in the morning wash."

Allison gapes a bit as she takes in the lean muscles that Stiles has been hiding under his shirts as Stiles screws up his vest and drops it on top of the washing machine.

"We should probably go back to bed," Stiles says before turning to Allison and blushing under her attention and expression, and almost immediately yelps as he crosses his arms modestly over his chest. "Stop staring at my breasts! My eyes are up here!"

Allison blushes a little and then snorts, “Stiles, you don’t have breasts.”

“Well, stop looking at my nipples,” he keeps his arms firmly crossed over his chest. “They’re sensitive.”

Allison cackles at that and shakes her head, “You’re so weird.”

“I mean, yeah,” Stiles chuckles with her as they walk back to their rooms. “Night, Allison.”

“Goodnight, Stiles,” she smiles and gives him a wave before continuing down to the room she was given to stay in.

Stiles enters Peter’s room to find the bed has been freshly made, the Alpha settled on top of the sheets with an iPad opened on his lap.

Climbing into the bed, Stiles flops down next to the older man and glances at his screen.

“New laptop?”

“Well, since as mine is almost ten years old, yes. I doubt it could even work that well, and if I’m going to be dismantling an entire family of hunters, I’m going to have to stay updated on recent technology,” Peter tells him, “Now tell me, what colour iPhone do you want?”

Stiles chokes for a moment and stares up at Peter in disbelief, "You aren't honestly going to buy me an iPhone, are you?"

"Did I stutter over my question?" Peter asks as he glances down to Stiles. "Colour?"

"iPhones are ridiculously expensive!" Stiles protests and Peter sighs loudly.

"And I'm ridiculously rich," Peter points out dryly before clamping Stiles against him with one arm. "Now colour."

Stiles squirms against Peter for a moment, before slumping against him and resting his chin on Peter's chest, "Blue."

"Now, was that so hard?" Peter asks dryly as he orders a blue one for Stiles, black for Derek and red for himself, pausing before ordering a pink one for Allison.

"You don't have to buy me stupidly expensive things," Stiles grumbles as he frowns up at his Alpha.

"I'm the Alpha," Peter says simply. "I can spoil my Pack as I see fit."

"Like all the clothes?" Stiles asks as he turns to rest his cheek against Peter's chest as Peter loosens his grip on Stiles.

"You needed those clothes," Peter sniffs pointedly making Stiles rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a difference between need and want,” Stiles grumbles as he pulls the covers over himself.

He opens his eyes when Derek steps into the room, drying off his chest before going over to the drawers to pull out some sweatpants.

Blushing at the sight of Derek’s naked back, Stiles squeaks when he hears Peter rumbling with laughter next to him.

“Feeling better, pup?” Peter asks, grinning over at his son as he pulls on some sweat pants.

“Yeah,” the younger man responds before climbing under the sheets as well, curling up against Stiles and nosing at his hair.

 _Oh my god, please don’t get a hardon_ , Stiles thinks to himself as Derek cuddles him like he’s a teddy bear.

“Try not to squeeze too hard, Pup. You know how humans can get when you squeeze them,” Peter teases.

Derek snorts and clenches his arms a bit harder, “But he’s so fluffy.”

“Quit acting like I’m a tiny stuffed animal, I will bite you,” Stiles grumbles but it’s a total lie.

Well, except for the biting part, he’s okay with biting Derek.

Derek snorts as he leans down and nips at Stiles' ear before nosing Stiles' hair again as he settles.

Stiles grins as he feels Derek's teeth nip at his ear, and Peter snorts at Stiles' pure delight.

"You're _that_ overjoyed by a little affectionate nip," Peter teases as he watches Derek press closer to Stiles. "You're going to faint or something ridiculous when he actually kisses you."

Stiles flushes deeply and frees an arm to hit at his Alpha, "I will not!"

Peter chuckles as he notices the slight blush on his son's face before Derek buries it into Stiles' neck.

"Now, now," Peter tsks as he grabs Stiles' flailing hand. "Don't get so worked up, it's bedtime."

Stiles grumbles as he settles back against Derek, humming slightly as Derek noses his throat with a rumble.

Derek drags his nose up and down the length of Stiles' throat, his teeth actually aching with the urge to bite down and _claim_ , and he has to reluctantly pull away before he gives in, and he presses his nose against the buzz of Stiles' hair instead.

Stiles ends up being the first one to pass out, exhausted from everything that’s happened in one day. Derek noses at his buzzcut, hoping his scent will stick to Stiles’ skin enough.

Peter grins down at his two Beta’s watching as sleep finally comes to Derek, and his son passes out curled around Stiles’ body.

“Goodnight, Pup,” Peter whispers, brushing his fingers through Derek’s hair before doing the same to Stiles’ buzzcut.

Leaning back against the headboard he finishes paying for the items in his cart, making sure to get the fastest shipping option.

Setting the iPad down, Peter lays his head back and closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of heartbeats surrounding him.

* * *

Derek wakes slowly, the scent of Stiles filling his head, and part of Derek wants to just stay there, to lie against his mate and take in his scent and doze. But there's a familiar itch to his skin, a familiar voice insisting in the back of his head.

He had been lazy the last two days, too indulging into his own wants and desires, and he's paying for it now, Derek realises dimly as he takes one last greedy breath of Stiles' scent before creeping out of bed.

Stiles frowns briefly, grumbling wordlessly, and rolls into the space Derek had just been in, rubbing his nose against Derek's pillow making Derek's heart warm and clench at the same time.

"Pup?" Peter asks sleepily, eyes slit open.

"I'm going to work-out Mom," Derek tells him making Peter frown slightly as he opens his eyes more to look at Derek.

"This early?" Peter says after checking the time, and Derek nods, clenching and flexing his hands as his skin feels tight and uncomfortable. "You know where the gym is."

Derek nods before escaping quickly before he rouses his mother's concern, and takes the hidden stairs upstairs and towards Peter's own personal gym lay.

Peter hadn't liked going to the local gym, didn't like downplaying his strength, so Peter had set up his own gym in his apartment in the room with an enforced floor to take the weight of the equipment and weights.

It was expensive enough buying the equipment, but the enforced floor made it even more expensive—Talia, Derek recalls, had called it a waste of money though she had thought that about the whole of Peter's apartment.

It isn't the biggest room upstairs, no, the library had the pride of being the biggest room both upstairs and in the whole of Peter's apartment, but it's big enough for a treadmill facing the large windows and with a good view of the Preserve, a multi-stack gym for weight training, and a bar to do pull-ups with more than enough space for push-ups and sit-ups.

It’s perfect for Derek's need.

Derek starts out with the simple things, stretches and warm-ups.

Just some simple things; a hundred jumping jacks, a hundred push-ups, sit-ups, burpees, crunches.

After that he does a few cool down push-ups before moving to the bar so he can do some bench presses with 300lbs, the bar was specifically made to withstand a lot of heavyweights, so Derek is happy when it doesn’t bend.

He works until his muscles begin to burn and then sets the bar down and switches to the treadmill where he puts it at the fastest speed he can without the machine breaking on him.

He runs and runs until he starts to break a sweat and then jumps off to do pull-ups.

“Jesus Christ.”

Derek startles as he hears Stiles’ voice from behind him.

“Hey,” Derek says shyly, ducking his chin down a little.

“Oh my god, you’re like a machine. I don’t even think I could do a pull-up,” Stiles says walking into the room so he can glance at the bench press bar. “Jesus, that’s a lot of weights.”

“It’s not as much as I usually do,” Derek shrugs.

Stiles gapes a little as he stares at Derek, "That's seriously amazing."

 _And very arousing_ , Stiles thinks and carefully doesn't let his mind drift in that direction as Derek drops lightly to the floor, absently falling into arm stretches.

"How long have you been at this?" Stiles asks curiously as he looks around the gym.

"Not long," Derek shrugs, rolling his shoulders. "What time is it now?"

"Just gone seven," Stiles tells him as he hands over one of the bottles of water Peter pressed into his hands.

"Huh," Derek screws off the lid. "I suppose it's been two and a half hours then."

Stiles chokes as Derek takes a long pull of water, swallowing about half of it in one go, and he boggles at Derek.

"You've been doing this since _forty thirty_?" Stiles' voice goes a bit high in disbelief, not even able to take enjoyment from the movement of Derek's throat as he finishes off the first bottle.

"I suppose," Derek shrugs as Stiles numbly hands over the second bottle to Derek, and Derek takes smaller sips this time now his suddenly raging thirst had been relieved.

"I _was_ right," Stiles wheezes as he takes in the amount of sweat glistening on Derek's skin, trying not to get distracted by the way it clings and slides down Derek's muscles. "You are just like a machine, shit. Aren't you tired?"

"No," Derek shakes his head, he actually feels like he could go through another round of his exercises with the way he feels the buzz under his skin.

"Have you had anything to eat yet?" Stiles asks in concern, hands flailing as he doesn't know if he should touch or not, and unsure if he can restrain himself from exploring all that wonderful glistening tanned skin on offer to him.

Derek shakes his head as he finishes off the last of his water.

"Derek!" Stiles says in alarm as he reaches out to grab Derek's hand. "You need food, fuel! Important things, especially if you want to do things like _this_."

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek waves him off, getting ready to do another set of fifty pull-ups.

Only to freeze when Stiles wraps his arms around his own, looking down Derek feels his cheeks heat up when he sees Stiles staring up at him.

“Please take a break,” his mate tells him and then tugs on his arm a little. “Come eat breakfast with me, please?”

Derek should say no, he _needs_ to work out.

He’s been slacking off so much lately and two hours in nothing to what he needs to work on, but then Stiles flutters those big Bambi eyes at him, and he’s weak, god he’s so fucking pathetic when it comes to Stiles—his mate.

“Okay, I’ll come to eat breakfast with you,” Derek gives in, blushing when Stiles tugs him down so he can press a kiss to his cheeks.

“Awesome! I’m pretty sure Peter is done cooking by now, and I haven’t even gotten coffee in my system.”

Stiles smiles at him as he links their hands together, and Derek's helpless to do anything but follow as Stiles leads them downstairs and to the kitchen where Peter is plating up breakfast as Allison watches with eager eyes and Chris stares blearily into his coffee.

"Lydia is going to be _so_ jealous," Allison says as Peter places a plate full blueberry-pancakes with added blueberries on top and a side of toast and bacon in front of her, and there's several jugs of syrup and honey, little pots of jams already on the table. "I never want to leave."

"I was worried you may not come for breakfast," Peter admits as Stiles drags Derek to the table before Stiles takes his chair and eagerly takes a sip of his coffee with a sigh.

Derek shrugs awkwardly, unsure how to explain he hadn't been planning on breakfast until Stiles asked him, and takes his chair next to Stiles as Peter places their plates in front of them with a kiss to Derek's sweaty hair and a brush of a hand over Stiles' buzzcut.

"I could easily get fat eating this," Stiles says with no real concern as he pours some syrup over his stack of pancakes—Peter has given both him and Allison four pancakes, while Derek seems to have at least seven.

"You need more meat on your bones," Peter informs him firmly as he places the breakfast in front of Chris. "You are too skinny."

Stiles rolls his eyes before turning to Allison, whose cheeks were bulging like a chipmunk, as she makes a toasted bacon sandwich.

"He has major Mrs Weasley vibes, doesn't he?" Stiles says with a grin as Allison swallows with a slight blush before grinning back at Stiles.

"Oh yeah," Allison agrees which makes Peter roll his eyes before he nudges Chris.

"Food, eat," he orders simply, and Chris blinks at the pancakes in front of him, sluggish in his movements. "You really have become a _lightweight_ , Christopher."

" _That_ wasn't normal whiskey," Chris says darkly as he grabs a piece of toast and munches on it.

Peter hums and gives Chris a wink as he settles down in his seat at the front of the table, sipping at his cup of coffee as he does so.

Derek looks between Chris and his mother and glares at the Hunter, wanting nothing more than to drag the man out of their apartment.

He’s thrown out of his thoughts when Stiles leans against him while chewing on his food, making these ridiculously sexual moans as he eats which is doing nothing to help with the blush on Derek’s face.

“This is so good,” Stiles moans, “I feel like I’m in heaven.”

“You’re going to be late if you keep eating at a snail’s pace.” Peter teases, leaning back in his seat to drink his coffee.

“It’s called enjoying fine food. Sorry, I don’t eat like a pack of wolves.”

Derek snorts at the joke, his body melting against Stiles’ as his mate continues to touch him without noticing it. Nothing sexual in nature, just a hand on his arm or his bicep, sometimes resting on his knee but never higher than that.

It makes his wolf roll around and howls like an excitable puppy.

"I don't care if we're late," Allison says as she enjoys every bite of her pancakes. "It'll be worth it."

"Right!" Stiles says in total agreement. "Urgh, I can't believe I won't have this to look forward to tomorrow."

Derek freezes in the act of cutting his pancakes and the happy howling of his wolf cuts off suddenly as he's harshly reminded that he won't have Stiles tonight.

No Stiles leaning against them as Derek reads or does something on the laptop as Stiles does homework or reads about magic, no Stiles sitting right next to him as he has dinner and Stiles absently touches him, no Stiles to cuddle around when it's time for bed.

Derek stares blankly down at his breakfast and feels a surge of panic run through him.

What if Stiles needs him and he's not there? What if Scott decides to confront Stiles since he's alone and Derek isn't there to defend him?

What if Stiles forgets to eat something? What if he can't sleep because Derek's not there and he stays up all night, and then drives to school only to fall asleep at the wheel and gets hurt?

"I will be making sure you don't sneak out any of the books," Peter teases Stiles while keeping a subtle and concerned eye on his son. "And you'll have to give Allison your empty lunchbox, so I can fix lunch for you tomorrow."

“I wish I could convince dad to let me stay here, but I’m sure he’ll get lonely in the big house of ours.” Stiles jokes, though only half a joke since sometimes it really does get lonely there.

Derek wants to tell Stiles he’ll come to stay with him, curl up on his bed and roll around in Stiles’ scent, hold him as he studies, and they sleep.

But he doesn’t want to come off as clingy, doesn’t want Stiles to get annoyed with him for being all over him.

Humans get annoyed often when people are clingy.

So he takes the time to simply enjoy the time he has with Stiles now, thinks about going back to the weight room when he’s done dropping Stiles off at school.

_I need to look good for mate. Need to make sure he only has eyes for me._

**Ours.**

Derek shakes his head of those thoughts and takes another mouthful of the delicious pancakes his mother made for him.

"I'll have to remind Noah that both of you are welcome here whenever you want," Peter says lightly, wondering how hard it would be to convince Noah to move him and Stiles into the apartment.

It's not like Peter is going to run out of space anytime soon, and if it does get tight with space, well, Peter has a lot of money and can easily either buy or build a new house for all of them.

He'll think on it today after he deals with reconnecting with some of his old contacts and allies, and hopefully securing a therapist for them.

"He'll probably not be here much," Stiles shrugs as he eats. "He works a lot."

Peter pauses as he cocks his head to the side, "Will he be working tonight?"

Stiles chews his pancakes thoughtfully, "Well, he'll probably have time for dinner with me and stuff, but he may be called it. His hours are kind of everywhere really."

 _So, you could end up alone tonight_ , Peter thinks with some disapproval.

“Well, if you end up being left home alone, you could always give us a call. I’m sure Derek is more than happy to hang out with you,” Peter says, a little smirk on his face at the last part.

Derek gives his mother a little glare and huffs as he finishes off his plate, ignoring the way Stiles presses a smile into his skin.

“I know. My giant Der-bear is gonna miss his nightly cuddles,” Stiles grins at the face Derek makes.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. That is an awful nickname, and you know it,” Derek sits back and crosses his arms over his chest.

Stiles glances down at the man’s bulging muscles and then back up, “Aw come on, I think it’s pretty good.”

“I am not a teddy bear.”

“Fluffy, cuddly, cute but grumpy,” Stiles lists off with his fingers, ignoring the giggles coming from Allison. “Am I missing something?”

"Impossible to sleep without?" Allison suggests with a giggle, and Stiles snaps his fingers and points at her.

"Exactly!" Stiles says with a grin as he turns back to Derek. "Face it, it's perfect for you, Der-Bear."

"I am not a teddy bear," Derek insists with a blush, ducking his head to hide it.

"You're my teddy bear," Stiles informs him with a teasing grin as he leans against Derek.

"As much as I am enjoying you tease my son," Peter begins in an amused tone, gaining a slightly betrayed glare from Derek. "Don't you have school to get ready for? You need to hurry up and finish your breakfast."

"It feels like a waste to just scoff down this food without truly savouring it," Stiles says before he and Allison does as Peter suggests, and quickly finish off their breakfast.

"Are you going to stay here or come with us to drop off the kids?" Peter asks Chris, and the older man looks up from his half-eaten breakfast.

"I think I'll stay here and start calling lawyers," Chris tells him as he leans back in his chair. "I want the papers in hand as soon as possible."

"I have several contacts that are lawyers, if you have problems with a normal lawyer, I can get in touch with one of them for you," Peter tells him, and Chris reaches out and squeezes Peter's hand.

"Thank you," Chris raises Peter's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of Peter's hand.

"Sap," Peter rolls his eyes, but a small smile twitches at his lips, and Allison smiles slightly at the easy and casual affectionate that she's never known her dad was capable of.

Chris looks up and freezes a little when he sees the rage written all over Derek’s face.

He understands the man might have issues with Chris getting back together with Peter, but if that’s the case then Derek should come and speak with him.

Grumbling under his breath, Derek grabs the car keys and marches his way to the door, not bothering to grab a jacket because the cold doesn’t bother him.

Stiles comes up by his side and links their hands together, causing the werewolf to calm down for a moment.

The touch of his mate always makes him feel weak and vulnerable, and the little smile Stiles flashes him as they make their way to the parking garage. It makes his wolf howl a thousand times.

“Is it bad I already want to take a nap after eating all that food?” Stiles says, leaning against Derek as he waits for the older man to unlock the car.

“Me too,” Allison chimes in, getting into the back of the car with Stiles while Peter takes the passenger seat.

“I’m glad to hear you all enjoy my food so much. Makes my cold heart warm-up,” Peter says.

"You do not have a cold heart," Stiles informs the older man as he slips in next to Allison and dumps his backpack beside his feet. "Your heart is soft and warm, filled with a protective and murderous love."

"At least you acknowledge my murderous side," Peter preens as Derek pulls out of the parking lot.

Allison snorts as she leans back against her seat, feeling full and sleepy.

"I need to take up running again, or archery or something," Allison decides as she blinks her eyes not to fall asleep. "Or I'm going to get too fat for any of my clothes soon."

"I suppose it's a good thing I've got lacrosse practise today," Stiles muses, glad he left his gear at school along with his crosse. "Coach is probably going to make me do suicides."

"Does he often to that?" Allison asks curiously, she's only been to one lacrosse practice and it was for try-outs.

"Either that or lets me get clobbered by the team," Stiles shrugs with little concern. "It apparently helps their self-esteem."

"Do you actually play?" Peter asks curiously, and Stiles snorts.

"No, you have to be good _and_ first-line for that like Jackson, Scott and Danny," Stiles explains. "I sit on the bench, I warm the bench, I listen to Coach's crazy talk."

Derek grips the steering wheel a little harder at that, the way his mate simply puts himself down makes him want to snarl.

“I wouldn’t put yourself down so much, Stiles. Perhaps you’ve just been holding yourself back,” Peter glances at Derek, both of the Hale’s giving each other a knowing look that they need to work on Stiles’ self-esteem.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure the bench is like my home. Well, a home I use to share with Scott, but now that he’s all supernatural and cool, I guess he won’t be needing me anymore,” he shrugs a little, “Maybe I’ll quit lacrosse, I enjoyed track more than lacrosse.”

“Hey, maybe we can both do track,” Allison nudges him. “I’m pretty sure I could kick your ass.”

“Me? Against you?” Stiles snorts, “Oh yeah, I’d definitely lose to you.”

Pulling into the parking lot of the school, Derek lets the car run as he gets out of the driver’s side and opens the back door for Stiles and Allison.

He’d forgotten he was only wearing a tank top when he left the house, so he can just _feel_ the way everyone starts at the group of them.

The moment Stiles is out of the car, Derek is pulling him into his arms so he can press a kiss to his mate’s forehead, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ and smirking when he feels the smallest hint of arousal.

“I’ll see you later,” Derek tells him, giving Stiles’ pants a little tug.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles stutters a little.

Derek pulls back and almost swaggers back to the driver's door as he can hear the jealous and wonderous whispers exploding from the crowd of teenagers, and he slips into the car as Allison links her arm around Stiles' and tugs him towards the doors.

* * *

"Please tell me my junk isn't obvious in these pants," Stiles pleads to Allison as he refuses to glance down, and Allison giggles as Derek smirks behind the wheel before pulling out of the school's parking lot.

"You're good," Allison reassures him as she glances down at straight-legged light brown plaid pants Stiles is wearing, the pants fit him well without hugging everything like his more skinny-legged jeans.

"Oh thank god," Stiles slumps his shoulders slightly as they walk. "I don't think I could survive if people could see my semi right now."

"You do realise you just said that out loud, right?" Allison asks with a smirk making Stiles flush and duck his head.

"Oh my god," he groans. "Strike me down, right here, right now, so I don't embarrass myself anymore."

Allison laughs and giggles as they make their way up to the front of the school. Lydia and Jackson coming up to meet them, the redhead gives Stiles a thorough look over.

“Well, looks like Peter’s taste is rubbing off on you. Thank god, I thought you were going to be stuck wearing flannel and graphic shirts the rest of your life,” Lydia smirks at the huff Stiles makes.

“You’re so rude.”

“And yet you still love me.”

Stiles throws a hand over his chest, “Actually, I love Allison more. She’s nice and doesn’t criticize my awful taste in clothing.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow, “Hm, we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

“Is that a warning or a threat?” Stiles asks, “I’m getting a little nervous here.”

“Both.”

"You are both beautiful and terrifying," Stiles informs her making Lydia smile at him.

"Thank you," Lydia says as she smiles sweetly as she takes Stiles' other arm. "I love your turtle-neck, very soft. It almost makes me want to stroke you."

"I believe my boyfriend would have a problem with that," Stiles says dryly making Jackson scoff.

"You could have been having sex with me and Lydia Friday," Jackson points out as they head towards the doors to the school. "And yet you've decided to go out with _Derek_."

Jackson didn't know what annoyed him more, the fact Derek may be considered more good looking than Jackson or the fact it was his _brother_ being chosen over him.

Jackson does know he wishes he had pushed Stiles against a wall and made out with him _before_ Stiles decided to commit to a relationship with Derek because he's certainly not going to get that _now_.

Stiles is too loyal to allow Jackson to do something like that now, no, Stiles would probably deck him, apologise for decking him, and then telling him sternly that only _Derek_ can kiss him.

 _Derek probably won't appreciate Stiles' cock properly_ , Jackson mentally grumbles as he wraps an arm around Lydia's waist. _He'll probably want to top despite the fact Stiles' cock was made for fucking, to stretch an ass tight around the girth and fuck someone deep and hard._

Jackson had only see Stiles' soft before, but that didn't change the fact that Stiles' is _hung_ , and some of Jackson's more avid fantasies is finding out just how big he'll get when hard, having Stiles' cock fucking his ass or his throat.

Lydia discreetly pinches Jackson's side before Jackson gets too far into his fantasies, she recognises the look he always gets when his thoughts drift to a more sexual and Stiles-like direction.

Stiles shrugs, feeling a little bad for turning them both down.

“Look you’re both very beautiful people, and I appreciate the offer. But...Derek...Derek is just different, I don’t know what it is about him, but he’s different and he makes me feel good,” Stiles scratches at his neck, “Sorry, that was probably really sappy.”

“I think it was pretty cute,” Allison grins at him, internally wishing she had the kind of sweet loving relationship between Derek and Stiles.

Jackson huffs, “I still can’t believe you chose my _older_ brother over me. Ridiculous.”

“Don’t be such a baby, Jackson. You’re already in an amazing relationship with a beautiful genius who’s planning on taking over the world.”

“Don’t worry, Stiles, I’ll let you be one of my assistants when I take over the world,” Lydia smirks.

"And I will gratefully accept as I bow down to your greatness, my Queen," Stiles informs her without missing a beat and making Lydia preen smugly and happily for a moment before she looks at Allison.

"Shall we leave these boys to gossip and bitch?" Lydia offers with a concerned glint in her eyes which tells Allison that she actually wants to talk about last night.

Allison smiles as she lets go of Stiles' arm and offers it to Lydia, "We shall."

Lydia smiles as she let's go of Stiles' arm and pulls away from Jackson to link arms with Allison, the two girls walking ahead of the boys.

Stiles frowns almost thoughtfully as he watches Lydia lean into Allison as they talk and walk, but is startled out of his wondering as Jackson drapes his arm around his shoulders.

"Come on," Jackson tugs at Stiles, "Let's get our books while I will tell you how much better I would have been if you hadn't chosen _my_ brother instead."

Stiles snorts, "I'm all ears."

"I'll start with the basics really," Jackson tells him as they head towards Stiles' locker. "I am much prettier."

"That's debatable," Stiles says and Jackson gives him an offended look.

“Excuse you, at least I groom my eyebrows and don’t look like I have bugs growing on them,” Jackson scoffs, “And for your information, I don’t look like a homeless psychopath.”

“Oh? Do continue to tell me this list of yours,” Stiles jokes, not actually expecting Jackson to continue.

“Oh, don’t worry I will,” Jackson leans up against the locker next to Stiles’. “Secondly, I’ve known you longer, I know Peter use to babysit you, but I’ve known you since kindergarten when you peed on Joey Kamski’s sandcastle after he kicked mine down.”

Stiles laughs at the memory of that, “Those were some good times.”

“And I know exactly what you’re packing under those pants, and would happily let you take me on any available surface,” Jackson smirks when Stiles chokes on nothing at that.

“Jackson!”

“What it’s true! What are you? Seven inches? Seven and a half? You’re definitely not smaller than six inches,” his smirk widens as Stiles’ face begins to grow hotter and hotter.

"You've obviously put too much thought into how big my dick is," Stiles hisses as he glances around as if hoping no one else can hear before he jerks open his locker.

"I can't help it," Jackson smirks wider as he shrugs his shoulder, "every time we shower after practise, it's there. I can't help but wonder about it, wonder how you'll feel in my mouth, how you'll taste, how it'll feel fucking my throat and making me choke on its girth."

Stiles chokes and flails before he's almost pressing Jackson against the lockers with both hands pressing against Jackson's mouth as the bastard continues to smirk at him.

"Do you have _no shame_?" Stiles demands in a hiss. "You—You just can't talk about that stuff in school! Oh my god, you're trying to kill me with embarrassment!"

Jackson reaches up and grabs Stiles' wrists to tug his hands off his mouth, and smirks widely right in front of Stiles' red face.

"Come on, can't you give me a hint of how big you are?" Jackson spreads his legs slightly and presses his groin against Stiles. "It'll help me nurse my broken heart."

"You complete and shameless bastard," Stiles says with some awe as he inches away from Jackson's crotch. "I can't believe I didn't see it before, you are _so_ his son.”

Jackson laughs so hard at that and drags Stiles in his arms so he can give the other teenager a noogie.

“Awful! Stop it! You’re the worst!” Stiles growls, trying to twist himself out of Jackson’s arms.

Both of them are startled from their shenanigans when a locker slams shut and shake the others.

Jackson straightens up immediately and glares at whoever closed the locker, Stiles has a dreaded feeling on who the person might be and sighs when he’s obviously right.

“Scott.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” the other teenager snarls.

“Look dude, if you’re angry about something you know you can just talk to me,” Stiles tries, but then Jackson is stepping in.

“After the last time he _talked_ to you? No way. I’d rather not find your head busted up against a brick wall because of this asshole,” Jackson growls, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a step forward so he’s standing between Stiles and Scott.

"I told you," Stiles says quietly, stubbornly sticking to the same story. "It's fine, he didn't mean to do it."

Jackson just makes a disbelieving face as he stays stubbornly between them, and Scott's face takes on an ugly look.

"This has nothing to do with _you_ ," Scott sneers at Jackson, and Jackson scoffs.

"It does if you have a problem controlling yourself around _my_ friend," Jackson informs him in a growl. "I'm not letting you hurt him again."

"Please," Scott scoffs as he straightens. "We both know you just want to fuck him, as soon as you do, you'll drop him and go back to being a dick to him."

"Excuse me, I'd like to put in that I am not going to fuck Jackson," Stiles cuts in before Jackson can say anything. "I have a boyfriend now."

Scott's face twists into disgust and something patronising as he looks at Stiles over Jackson's shoulder.

"Yeah," Scott says with an ugly tone to his voice. "I _heard_ ," it's snarled and Stiles almost wants to flinch at the utter disgust in his supposedly best friend's voice, "and I can't believe you're _that_ stupid, Stiles."

"W-what?" Stiles gapes as Jackson snarls.

"And what's that meant to mean?" Jackson growls at Scott, and Scott shakes his head.

"Can't you see? This is another way for _Derek_ to get to me and get me to do whatever he wants," Scott explains like they are stupid for not seeing it. "Or I suppose whatever his crazy uncle wants, considering he's working with him despite the fact he killed Derek's sister. But I guess he didn't really care about her after all."

"How fucking dare you suggest that Derek didn't care about Laura," Stiles snaps, his fists clenching as he moves to stand beside Jackson. "She was _his_ sister, and he loved her."

"Obviously not," Scott sneers, "considering he's working with her murderer."

"You don't know anything about what happened or Derek's relationship with Peter," Stiles informs him fiercely.

“I know enough,” Scott snaps, “I know enough that Stiles would let anyone walk all over him if they had a sad backstory or some stupid ass excuse. I’m surprised you aren’t bending over for Peter as well.”

Something about what Scott says snaps inside of Stiles’ brain, walking past Jackson and up to Scott. Stiles puts a hand on the teenager's shoulder and slams him up against the lockers with a strength he didn’t even know he had in him.

“ _Don’t_ ever suggest you know anything about the shit Derek’s been through. You can talk shit about me all you want but if I hear you talking shit about Derek or Peter again I will personally make your life a living hell.”

Scott flashes yellow eyes at him and tries to move, but for some reason, Stiles is able to keep him pinned to the lockers.

“What the hell—“ Scott says in shock as he struggles under Stiles’ hold.

"Derek's only tried to help you, and you've spat on everything he's tried," Stiles reminds him fiercely. "Did he go about it the wrong way? Sure, but his sister just died, and I think that's a good reason to be a dick to someone who has no clue what's going on to him and doesn't care about _anything_ that isn't his girlfriend."

"Get off!" Scott presses a hand against Stiles' stomach.

"Or what? What, Scott?" Stiles asks sharply. "You going to claw me up? Rip my guts out? Is that who you are now?"

"What have they _done_ to you?" Scott asks him, confusion warring with anger.

"They've done nothing, but cared for me, accepted me into their Pack," Stiles tells him, and Scott shakes his head in disbelief.

"You're human," Scott reminds him, only a touch doubtful. "You can't be Pack."

"You know nothing about Pack, about werewolves, about anything like that," Stiles reminds him. "You ignore everything that doesn't suit your wants, and you refused to listen to anything concerning the research I did for _you_. Fuck, Scott, you're barely holding onto control, and it's worse since Allison broke up with you."

"She didn't mean it!" Scott snaps, hands coming up and gripping Stiles' wrists hard. "She was just confused and upset because of _you!_ "

"She was upset because of your bigoted ass!" Stiles snaps back, pushing Scott more firmly against the lockers.

The lockers creak and groan under his strength and Stiles jolts back when he sees the metal starting to bend.

He glances down at his hand almost expecting claws to start appearing, but nothing happens, looking up he sees a huge hand-sized bruise on Scott’s chest which freaks him out even more.

Jackson stands there silent just watching the whole scene fold out with his jaw open.

“What the fuck?”

“I need to go,” Stiles speeds away, glancing down at his right hand once in a while until he finally gets to the bathroom.

Making sure no one else is in there, Stiles opens and then closes the door and settles down on top of the toilet seat, taking deep breathes as he tries to calm himself down.

 _What the fuck was that?_ Stiles thinks to himself, _What the hell have I just done?!_

“Fuck—fuck—fuck,” Stiles breathes, his chest starting to slowly constrict on itself as his vision gets spotty.

He knew there was a risk of him turning into a werewolf when he took the Bite, _knew_ there was a chance of him being something else.

But he never wanted it to hurt the people he loves—even through all the shit Scott has thrown at him, it’s almost hilarious how Stiles still considers the other teen like his brother.

"Fuck," Stiles wheezes as he places his head between his knees.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

He could have seriously hurt Scott, he could have actually really hurt him, Stiles realises with a sick lurch of his stomach.

But how?! He wasn't a werewolf! Peter had said that!!

Was this something to do with the whole Spark business? Or did the Bite do something else to him? Is there something wrong with him?

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

He hadn't meant to hurt Scott! He really hadn't!

But he had been so angry, how could Scott say things like that? About Peter? About _Derek_? He didn't know a thing about them, and he was just spouting off bullshit.

Stiles wheezes, his breathing coming out in ragged pants as he rocks on the toilet seat and clutches at his chest.

 _Panic attack_ , Stiles realises distantly, almost numbly, but knowing what it is doesn't help.

"Stiles!"

The door of the toilets' slams shut after that shout, and he can hear footsteps coming closer, and Stiles has to use shaky hands to open his stall.

Stiles wheezes as he topples out of the stall and straight into Jackson's arms.

" _Fuck_ ," Jackson curses—Stiles strongly agrees with that—and drops them down to the floor and hugs Stiles against his chest. "Shit, shit, right, fuck, remember, remember."

Stiles fists his hands in Jackson's shirt, creasing the probably expensive shirt as he wheezes, and then Jackson's hand is stroking up and down his back.

"Stiles, name seven things you can see," Jackson orders, his voice tight, and Stiles coughs as his gaze darts around.

"Floor," gasp, "wall," wheeze, "you," gasp, "toilet," wheeze, "sink," gasp, "drier," gasp, "mirror."

"Three things you can hear," Jackson encourages.

"People," Stiles gasps as he focuses. "Water," someone had left the tap running for a while, "you."

"Two things you can smell," Jackson says as he keeps stroking Stiles' back.

"Toilet, cologne," Stiles gasps slightly as he calms, coughing as he slumps against Jackson.

Jackson rubs at Stiles’ back and holds him close in his arms, not letting Stiles go until he knows that Stiles isn’t going to freak out anymore.

“I-I’m good. I promise. I’m good,” Stiles tells Jackson after a while, letting the younger man hold him.

“Are you sure? Can you breathe fine? Do you want me to get you some water or something to snack on?” Jackson tightens his arms around Stiles’ body.

“I promise, Jax, I’m good,” Stiles gives him a gentle smile.

The blonde freezes a little, and then a smile graces on his face as well, “You haven’t called me that stupid nickname since...”

“Since my mom died? Yeah, I remember,” Stiles rests his forehead on Jackson’s shoulder. “You used to say you hated it, but we both knew you were lying.”

“It’s a really dumb nickname. You’re the king of horrible nicknames,” Jackson’s jokes, earning a snort from Stiles.

“Not true, Derek appreciates my nicknames.”

He can hear the eye roll from Jackson, “I don’t need to be a werewolf to hear that lie.”

"Everyone's a critic," Stiles sighs against Jackson.

"Only against horrible nicknames," Jackson snorts as they hear the bell ring out in the hall.

"We should get to class," Stiles says, but Jackson only tightens his hold around Stiles.

"We can stay here for a bit longer," Jackson tells him as he leans against the stalls. "I don't feel going to class yet."

"Well, if you don't feel like going to class yet," Stiles teases as he shifts so his cheek rests against Jackson's shoulder.

"Hey, how pissed do you think my _dear_ brother is going to be to smell me all over you?" Jackson smirks, and Stiles pinches at him. "Ouch!"

"You're an asshole," Stiles informs Jackson without removing his cheek from Jackson's shoulder. "You'll fit right in with them."

"Thanks," Jackson snorts as he goes quiet for a moment. "I'm going to talk to my parents about Peter, about him being my birth father."

"He prefers Mom," Stiles reminds him making Jackson roll his eyes with a huff like laughter. "That's good, right?"

"You know how much I wondered about my birth parents, how I kept thinking they were my real parents, and how I wanted to make them proud?" Jackson leans his head back as he stares at the bright tube light on the ceiling. "But when Peter said who he was, that he was my birth father, that he would like to be called Mom, it made me realise that I already had parents, real parents that love me. And like, I'll call him Mom, and I won't deny him being one of my parents, but—"

"He's not the people that raised you," Stiles finishes, and Jackson nods. "He understood that, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Jackson huffs out a laugh. "I barely knew how to make sense of it, but he understood. Part of me feels bad because I know, I know he would have raised me if he knew, but he didn't and it sucks because I finally found him, but all it did was make me realise that I _do_ love my parents and that they _are_ my parents, and I really need to apologise to them."

“You’ve always been kind of an asshole,” Stiles laughs when Jackson swats at him. “But I think the teenage angst kind of added onto the whole thing. And that’s okay—well, some of it is, some of it you were a real asshole, you know that?”

“Trust me, I’m aware. I’ve been a real asshole and I need to start working on that, because I don’t want to be the asshole pretty boy in a teen drama tv show with werewolves.”

Stiles giggles at that, “Oh my god, we really are a teen supernatural drama show. What do you think they’d call it? I was a teenage werewolf? Night of the teenage werewolf?”

Jackson rolls his eyes, “Probably something shorter, like...Teen Wolf?”

“God, that sounds like an awful show.”

Jackson snorts, “The _worst_.”

The both of them laugh like a pack of hyenas, and Stiles is surprised no one’s walked into the bathroom yet to see what the hell was going on or wonder if they were smoking something.

* * *

"What?" Derek asks as he drives them back to the apartment, and catching Peter watching him.

"I know you don't like him," Peter says almost gently, and Derek tenses slightly.

"He doesn't deserve you," Derek tells his mother, and Peter puts on a smirk.

"No one truly deserves the gift of me in their beds," Peter says dramatically making Derek huff a laugh before Peter becomes sobers. "I know you don't like him, but he's my mate, Derek. My _mate_ , and god, I thought I would never get the chance to have him again. I thought he knew but still threw me to the side. But he didn't know, and he's divorcing his wife for _me_."

"He _hurt_ you," Derek clenches his hands around the wheel, and Peter nods.

"I know," Peter says simply. "And he knows it too. We'll have our own issues to deal with, our history and our old hurts. But I don't need you to fight in the name of those old hurts, nor do I need you to defend me like I can't take care of myself."

"You're my _mom_ ," Derek says as he slows at a Stop sign.

"I know," Peter smiles as he reaches out to touch Derek's arm. "Pup, I'm your mom and I don't need you to defend me against Chris."

Derek's jaw twitches as he clenches it.

“Doesn’t mean I have to be nice to him,” Derek grumbles a little bit under his breath.

“Darling boy, I know you’re going to have your ups and downs with my mate. But please remember no claws or fangs in the house, and if you put a scratch on him, I’ll ground you from seeing Stiles for an entire month.”

_“Mom!”_

“He’s my mate! I get nippy about these things, you know that,” Peter smiles and leans over to kiss his son’s cheek, “But I promise you this, if he even hurts a hair on my pup’s head, I will eviscerate him into pieces. I’m the Alpha now, I’m not some weak Beta that’s going to let someone bend me over anymore. I’m stronger.”

“You’ve always been strong,” Derek admits, “You’re the strongest person I know.”

The smile that graces Peter’s face is soft and yet also vulnerable, “You’re so sweet, Pup. You’ve always been the sensitive one in the bunch and you used to get picked on about it. But I think it gives you great character and makes you a better man.”

“Stop, or I’ll starting crying and crash the car,” Derek sniffs and wipes at his face.

"We can't have that, now can we?" Peter teases as he leans back in his seat as Derek continues to drive them home. "You can start boxing up your old things if you want, your new furniture is coming later."

"Already?" Derek asks as his eyebrows raise in surprise, and Peter hums as he smirks.

"It helps to get speedy deliverer when you are rich and willing to spend a lot of money on it," Peter informs him smugly. "It'll help things if your room is cleared from all the things you don't want."

Derek frowns almost thoughtfully as he thinks.

He wants to continue excising, he's been slacking the last few days and he _needs_ to keep in shape now more than ever considering he has found his mate.

 _Stiles wouldn't want me if I'm fat or weak-looking_ , Derek thinks to himself, but he _does_ need to clean his room out for his new furniture.

With Chris around, Peter's going to want to spend some nights _alone_ with Chris, Derek thinks with a scrunched nose.

But then he thinks of having Stiles in _his_ room, in _his_ bed, a private den for just _them_ , and his wolf rumbles in approval at that thought.

"I'll have deal with it when we get home," Derek decides after a moment.

He'll clear out his room, donate and chuck what needs to be, and then he'll go back to his excising until it's time to pick up Allison and hopefully see Stiles before his lacrosse practise.

* * *

When they get home, Derek makes a beeline to his old room, wanting it to get completely finished before Stiles gets home, excited at the prospect of sharing a den with just his mate. 

He starts with taking apart the bed first and moving all his old clothes into garbage bags so he can give them to charity later, only keeping a few he knows Stiles can fit and will look good on his mate.

They still smell like his younger-self, and are too small for him now, but Derek can fantasize a world in which his teenage-self got to date Stiles, got to meet his mate when they were young teenagers, shared kisses between classes, having Stiles wear his letterman jacket and invite him to his basketball games.

He wishes he had gotten that instead of sexual trauma and a dead family. But life has always been unfair, and he just had to move past that.

He continues to work on his room until it’s empty of his old stuff, only keeping the bookshelves alone because they aren’t that full, and Stiles can fill the rest of the space with whatever books he wants.

The thought of having a shared room with his mate makes his heart swell.

Smiling to himself, Derek leaves the room to bring everything down to his car to get rid of later, when he comes back into the apartment he finds the boxes with his new room furniture sitting in the middle of it.

Not bothering to wonder where his mother was at, Derek brings all the boxes to his room so he can unpack them and read the instructions.

The entire time he’s working on the room, all Derek can think about is how excited he is for Stiles to see this, how badly he wants his mate to like their _den_.

* * *

Peter peeks into Derek's room to see his son frowning as he looks over the instructions to put his solidly built furniture together—much better than normal flatpack and it actually takes their strength better—and all he can scent from his pup is excitement and pride.

 _He's nesting_ , Peter realises while biting back a coo, before frowning slightly in thought.

 _Derek's instincts and urges will no doubt fight with his trauma_ , Peter thinks as he watches his son.

The wolf sees their mate unclaimed and in easy reach, a mate that will probably welcome every touch and enjoy every moment of being claimed while Derek feels these same urges and instincts, but cringes away from it due to what _she_ did to him.

 _The truth about his father probably didn't help_ , Peter reflects grimly, wishing he hadn't had to ruin the good memories Derek had with Robert.

Robert wasn't that much of a father, but he always gave special attention and affectionate to Derek when he was younger while Talia doted on the girls and ignored Derek as much as possible while still claiming the title of mother.

Peter shakes his head as he leaves Derek and walks to his study.

Therapy will help Derek deal with his trauma, but he won't be ready to actually _do_ what his instincts insist he does for a long time.

However, he needs something to take the edge off, to keep the frustration from bubbling over and either pushing himself too fast too soon or attacking himself to deal with the frustration in another way.

Peter will have to take a trip today, or at the latest tomorrow to see if the local shop has those special items still hidden in the back.

Peter doubts they got rid of them despite the death of most of the Hale's as the Ito Pack neighbours them, and probably also needed those items.

Peter shuts the door to his study and moves to his desk and takes a seat behind it, relaxing into the leather for a moment before reaching for the top draw of his desk on the left side.

There, nestled in the draw, was Peter's own very special little black book, and he pulls it out to flick through.

It had been six years since he's called any of the names in the book, but they were supernatural and several of them were long-lived so they wouldn't have changed their number in those six years.

The person Peter has been thinking about is especially long-lived and has used those years to tuck several careers under her belt, one of them being a rather skilled therapist.

Peter supposes it helps to be almost nine-hundred-years-old and having seen the worst and best of humanity so very little surprises or shocks her.

He taps in the number in his out-dated phone—he can't wait for his new iPhone to arrive—and raises it to his ear as he listens to it ring.

There's a click as the phone is picked up before a young woman's voice speaks in a bubbly tone.

"Hello! Noshiko Yukimura's phone, Kira speaking."

"Hello," Peter greets back smoothly. "This is Peter Hale, I was wondering if I could talk to Noshiko?"

"Yeah, sure, just— _shit_."

Peter resists the urge to pull the phone back and stare at it incredulously as he listens to the young woman—a teenager probably around Stiles' age—audibly trip.

"Kira," Noshiko's voice is very recognisable despite it being at least six years since Peter had a reason to talk to the Kitsune, and she continues in Japanese. _"You have to be careful, what have I told you about rushing around?"_

"Sorry, sorry, Mom," Kira's voice is muffled as if she's placing her hand over the speaker as she speaks sheepishly. "But there's a Peter Hale on the phone?"

A pause, a shuffle, and then Noshiko's voice comes through the phone.

"Peter Hale," she greets in a neutral tone. "It has been some time."

"Barely a blink to one such as yourself, I am certain," Peter says smoothly, though he's doubtful that's true considering she has a young daughter.

"What can one such as I help you then?" Noshiko's voice is vaguely amused.

“As much as I hate to admit it, but I need a therapist. One who I can trust and one who already is aware of the supernatural,” Peter admits, settling down in a chair as he waits patiently for Noshiko’s response.

“And you want me to be your therapist?”

“Not just me, but also for my son.”

He hears a dead pause on the other side of the line and waits patiently for the information to drop.

Peter had been very silent about the fact Derek was his son—it didn’t matter that Talia had used her Alpha powers to make sure he’d never speak about it—he wouldn’t have said anything anyway.

If the news had gotten out back then that Robert had raped Peter and Derek wasn’t actually the Alpha’s son, there would have been a fight, there would have been a challenge to Talia’s authority and Derek would have been thrown into the middle of it.

They would have called his son names, Peter could handle the curses and slurs thrown his way, he grew up being called a faggot from humans and their unoriginal name-calling.

But if Derek had grown up being told he was a bastard, that he was a child of rape, or he wasn’t wanted?

Peter would have snapped, he would have killed someone and started a Pack war, didn’t matter if he killed the Alpha or a Beta, anyone who said such things to his pup was going to get teeth in their throat.

“I had no idea you had a son,” Noshiko says after a pause.

“Yes, well, there’s quite a lot to unpack with that story. But that’s for our first appointment.”

“And your son is okay with going to therapy as well?”

Peter glances down at his fingernails, the words coming out of his mouth make his fangs itch to kill, “Seeing as he was neglected as a child while I was locked up in a madhouse, and then was raped when he was thirteen, yes I do think he’ll be needing therapy as well.”

A gasp comes from the other side of the line, something broken and horrified and it makes Peter want to snarl.

He doesn’t want anyone’s pity, doesn’t need it or want it.

_“Peter.”_

“I’m thinking perhaps we could meet this Friday afternoon? Get things scheduled ahead of time?”

"You wish to meet," Noshiko pauses for a moment, "this would mean moving my family, unless.."

"My Pack will not be moving away from Beacon Hills," Peter answers her unspoken question. "It is our home, and it has been Hale's land since before the town was officially founded. We have lived on this land, defended this land and died on this land for generations, and it's been too long since the land had a proper Alpha."

"You have my sympathy for the loss of your niece," Noshiko tells him softly, and Peter still can't help the flinch that goes through him at that.

He hadn't meant to, he honestly hadn't. But he treated her like Talia, and Laura didn't fight back like her mother would have, and Laura was dead, dead by his claws, and Peter would have to live with that.

"Thank you," Peter has to clear his throat before he speaks. "Will relocating your family be too much to ask you?"

Noshiko is silent for a moment before she finally speaks, "I will talk this over with my husband, but I am honoured by the trust you have shown in me by reaching out and I will not let you down. I will be there Friday to meet with both you and your son, and we will discuss things then."

"Thank you," Peter doesn't try to hide the relief in his tone, and Noshiko is silent for a moment more.

"Peter," she says very seriously after she had walked away from her curious daughter. "There is something I must speak to you about this Friday, something I must confess, and I hope we can resolve without any casualties."

Peter leans back in his chair and taps his nails against his desk, "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"No," Noshiko tells him simply.

"How bad is it?" Peter asks as he hears her pace.

"If someone finds It and messes with It? Or attempts to channel It? Deadly," Noshiko informs him. "However, It has been undiscovered since the war. I very much doubt someone will meddle with It lightly."

“Sounds wonderful. First, we’ve got crazy hunters and a possible evil entity. Just another week,” Peter says charmingly.

Noshiko doesn’t laugh but he wasn’t really doing it for entertainment purposes.

They discuss a few more things at hand before finally ending the call, setting his phone down Peter leans back in his seat and rubs at his face already feeling tired.

Giving himself a minute to just sit in the silence, Peter wakes up when he hears Derek let out a soft curse.

He smiles, seeing his pup so happy and excited has been the light of Peter’s year.

When Derek had started up high school, his sweet pup’s smiles grew less and less until they were smirks and frowns that made him look like he had angry caterpillars on his face.

And now, it’s all Derek ever does is just smile, and it makes the motherly love inside of Peter grow with warmth.

Getting out of the chair, Peter goes to check on his son and smirks when he catches Derek moving the clothes for Stiles from Peter’s room to his.

He’s almost tempted to tease his son about his nesting habits but when he catches the determined look on Derek’s face, he steps back, not wanting to disrupt the process going through Derek’s head.

Instead, he searches out for the other heartbeat in his home and walks back to his study where Chris had slipped in and is shifting through some papers on the table.

“Divorce papers?”

"My lawyer had it mostly drawn up already," Chris admits as he reads over the custody agreement he got his lawyer to send. "It also helps that I have money and my name to make things go faster, the moment she signs these, I'm free. Of course, all the goodwill my name has given me will no doubt disappear once it gets out just who I am leaving Victoria for."

And it will get out, Chris knows.

Either Victoria or more likely, Kate would say something and everyone in the hunting community will know that Chris Argent is a disgrace to his name and prefers fucking a _dog_ , another man at that, over his wife.

Gerard will denounce him, disown him in the way he's probably been aching to do since he caught Chris kissing Nicolai, and cutting him off from all the Argent wealth and resources—like Chris hadn't been quietly stockpiling money and such over the years, and hasn't been reaching out and making more personal alliances just in case.

Gerard will probably try and get custody of Allison, get her returned to Victoria and thus able to turn Allison into another Kate, but Chris' custody agreement with Victoria was ironclad and Allison was seventeen, more than old enough to decide who she wants in her life.

"You're being very generous to her," Peter says with some disapproval as he sits next to Chris on the small couch and looks over the papers.

"I can afford to be generous," Chris says as he sets down the custody agreement and turns to Peter. "And I don't really care, whatever makes her sign them quickly is worth it."

Peter hums, not agreeing or disagreeing, and Chris reaches out to cup his burnt cheek, rubbing his thumb over the smooth lumps of the burns.

"I love you," Chris tells him honestly, refusing to let fear hold him back anymore, and he leans close.

"I love you too," Peter admits before closing the distance and kissing Chris of his own will.

Humming in the back of his throat, Chris tugs at the band of Peter’s pants until the Alpha is climbing onto his lap. Squeezing Peter’s thighs, Chris tilts his head to the side a bit so he can get a better angle at kissing the younger man.

“I missed this,” Chris says softly.

“What? Me sitting on your lap like an over-eager bitch?” Peter jokes, nipping the bottom of Chris’s lips.

“No. I missed you in my arms, I missed your lips on mine. I just missed you and your entire being,” Chris kisses up Peter’s throat and then bites on his jaw. “You’re not a bitch, you’re mine. My mate.”

Shivering at those words, Peter pushes his hips down so their growing erections run up against one another.

“Call me that again.”

“What? Call you what, love?”

Growling, Peter hisses when Chris moves a hand to rub at his hardon, and squeeze it.

“ _No_ ,” Peter hisses, humping into Chris’ hand.

“ _Mate?_ ”

Peter shudders as the word and the way Chris says goes straight through him and down to his core, feeling his cock twitch under Chris' hand, and he groans as he pulls Chris into a biting kiss.

Chris groans as one hand fists in Peter's long dark hair, and he kisses back fiercely as he rubs against Peter's clothed cock for a moment before tugging on Peter's shirt and pushes it up.

Peter pulls back with his eyes bleeding red as he almost rips off his shirt and throws it carelessly on the floor, and then he's reaching for the hem of Chris' shirt as his mate watches him with dark blue eyes.

Chris shivers as he helps Peter remove his shirt, watching the Alpha throw his shirt to the side in something like disgust, and then Peter's shifting on his lap and leaning down to mouth at the bite scar over his heart.

" _Fuck_ ," Chris drops his head back and arches his chest into Peter's mouth as his _mate_ licks and nips at the scar with a rumble, it feels like the scar— _his mating-mark_ —is connected to his cock as he feels himself twitch and leak precum as Peter lavishes his attention on the scar. " _Peter_."

Chris tangles one hand in Peter's dark hair, tugging on the curls he hadn't ever realised Peter had, and Peter pulls away from his chest with a groan as Chris tugs him into a kiss.

 _This is going to be quick and messy_ , Chris realises as he feels Peter's hands on his jeans, undoing the button and unzipping him, and Chris lifts his hips so Peter can tug both his jeans and underwear down some.

This isn't what Chris had planned for their first time together again.

He had been planning to do it properly this time, to take Peter out to dinner and see a movie like Peter joked about, and then he was going to lay Peter out on his bed and take him apart, bit by bit, with pleasure before finally fucking him or even letting Peter fuck him.

Chris fumbles as he reaches for Peter's jeans, undoing his button and zip eagerly, pushing them down until Peter's kicking them off.

Chris stares at Peter with this expression of awe, the last time he saw Peter’s naked body was so long ago it feels like a forgotten memory.

Back then, Peter was lithe and had some muscle on his bones, but now he’s built and gives off this kind of look like he’s not a man to be messed with.

Peter had always had this underline look to him that he was dangerous, like a venomous snake, and Chris isn’t sure if it’s because he’s become an Alpha now or because of the trauma, but being naked next to the man makes his nerves on edge a little.

Like the beginning of a _hunt_. A chase. A bloodbath.

Swallowing, Chris reaches out to touch the beautiful man before him only to freeze when Peter grabs his hands, pulling them up and over Chris’s head so he can’t use them.

“Remember when we first met? In the club? I don’t think it’s there anymore, but we use to meet there every Friday. You’d fuck me in the alleyway or take me to the hotel room I had booked,” Peter says, using one hand to hold Chris’s hands and the other to trace over Chris’s throat, claws slowly coming out to play as he scraps gently against Chris’s skin.

“How could I forget? The very next time I went there you pushed me up against a wall and kissed me like a man dying of thirst,” Chris answers, gasping when claws rake down his chest.

“Mmmh, yes. Those were fun times,” Peter smirks.

He freezes and tilts his head to the side like he’s listening to something, and then chuckles.

“Something funny?”

“My son has decided to blast the Band of Horses, so he doesn’t have to hear us make love on the leather seat.”

Chris flushes as he remembers they aren't alone, but then Peter's trailing one almost curious finger over his cock and Chris forgets everything that isn't Peter.

 _"Peter,"_ Chris arches under the younger man with a moan.

"Remember that first night?" Peter asks idly as he wraps his fingers loosely around the head of Chris' cock, thumb rubbing over the slit. "You were so nervous, it was like the wrong thing would spook you, and I would have to track you down. But you couldn't take your eyes off me, and I knew I had you."

 _"Peter,"_ Chris fucks his hips up into Peter's loose grasp. _"Please."_

"You were already hard before we started dancing, you were so awkward," Peter laughs lightly before leaning down to lap and nip at Chris' throat. "But I got you where I wanted you. Remember how I dropped to my knees that first night? Remember how you fucked my mouth and came so hard down my throat? Remember how you almost fumbled trying to get to my cock and jerked me off?"

Chris groans, fucking up desperately as Peter's words bring all the memories back.

Laughing blue-eyes staring up at him, a smug smirk curling kissable and fuckable lips as Chris trips over his words, a strong hand tugging him into the heat of the dancefloor, one arm looped around his neck as Peter grinds back against Chris' aching cock, stumbling to the hallway of the toilets, Peter pressing him against the wall, Peter sinking to his knees, a _hot and wet_ mouth around his cock for the first time, Chris groaning and having no control as he fucks, Peter swallowing everything, Peter pressing a hot kiss to his lip and Chris tasting himself, a hard leaking cock in his hand.

 _"Next Friday?"_ a question whispered hotly against his ear, and Chris drunk on the young man just nodding dumbly, an almost gentle kiss and then Peter had been gone in a whirl of glitter.

 _You were my first_ , Chris thinks dazedly as he stares up at Peter.

“I think you do remember,” Peter smirks, “Did you think about me? All those times you were hard and naked? Desperately wishing it was me.”

“Yes—fuck, god yes,” Chris whines, being turned into a pathetic sobbing mess under Peter’s hands.

“I’ve missed playing with you. The teasing, the biting, god you were the only thing I cared about,” Peter admits, “The one thing that made my life seem like it was worth living.”

Standing up, Peter walks around the back of the desk to pull open a drawer and pull out a bottle of lube.

“I’m going to ride your dick, love. I’m going to fuck myself on it like you’re a pretty little sex toy and nothing else,” Peter smirks, crossing the room to sit back on Chris’s lap. “Sound good?”

“Yes. Anything you want, pumpkin.”

Peter bites on his bottom lip and then leans down to press a kiss to Chris’s lips.

“Such a sweet old man.”

Chris raises an eyebrow, “I’m not _that_ old.”

"Good," Peter smirks as he slicks his fingers up and reaches behind him, circling his hole and pressing a single finger in. "I would hate for this to be over too quickly."

Chris leans back against the couch as he watches Peter avidly with a slightly slacked mouth and wide dark eyes, it's the same exact look Chris wore the first time Peter did this in their hotel room.

It gives Peter the same feeling as it did back then, made him feel powerful and _sexy_ , it let him be the picture of confidence despite never doing something like this before.

Not that Peter was a complete virgin! He just, he just wasn't as experienced as he let Chris think as he didn't want the older man to look down at him for that, as he had been completely certain that Chris would baulk at his age despite the fact Peter had already graduated with Claudia before he met Chris.

And it's the look that Peter needs to strengthen himself as he prepares himself, as he doesn't attempt to shy away as Chris presses kisses against the burn scars that mar the right side of him like they aren't ugly things that resist healing thanks to his torturous nurse.

There's no disgust in Chris' expression or scent, no pity, just lust and love, and it's heady as Peter stretches himself open quickly, impatiently.

He's having sex with the man he loves, he's having sex with his mate, he's in complete control and no one is forcing him, and Peter aches with want as he pulls his fingers free and slicks up Chris' cock.

Chris groans, hitching his hips up and ignoring how the leather clings to his bare body as he holds his cock ready, and he watches with bated breath as Peter sinks down on him, stretching around him and clinging around him until Peter's fully seated and Chris is balls deep in Peter's _tight_ ass.

" _Fuck_ ," Chris groans out as he presses his forehead to Peter's right shoulder, panting and gritting his teeth to hold back the urge to just fuck up into Peter as he holds Peter's hips tightly.

Peter smirks at how much power Chris is handing over to him on a silver player, the way the man just gives him everything he asks for and wants.

“You always were the best at this,” Peter gasps, “Letting me ride your cock, use you like a toy. _Fuck_ , I wanted you so badly.”

“I’m yours, I’m all yours,” Chris promises.

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

Peter starts with a harsh fast pace, not wanting to go any slower. Slow was waiting _six fucking years_ in a coma, slow was being told Chris was never going to see him again and if he went to look for the man, he was going to get shot.

He wants the _now_ , wants the fast and the harsh kisses, wants skin getting cut from sharp nails and blood on his teeth, wants to make _violent love_ to this man underneath him, keep him locked in his room and safe.

Chris gasps, arching under him with a groan, and then his hand in tangling in Peter's long hair and dragging him down into a kiss, a kiss that biting and filled with passion and _years_ of longing.

"Missed you, missed you, love you, love you," Chris presses kisses along Peter's throat, dragging his teeth against the fragile skin in a way that makes Peter whine and clench tightly around him. "Never letting you go _again_ , never leaving you."

"Won't let you," Peter snarls as he clamps his hands on the back of the couch, claws popping and digging into the leather. "Won't _ever_ let you go."

Chris actually whines at that, leaning back and exposing his throat to the predator fucking himself on his cock, and Peter snarls as he leans down and sets his teeth against that fragile throat as he clenches and fucks himself on Chris' cock.

Chris' heart jumps and races, Peter can feel his pulse racing under his teeth, and he knows that every instinct in Chris should be fighting this, should fight against having a werewolf at his throat, an Alpha at that, but Chris actually slumps and holds his hips tighter as he exposes more of his throat with a groaning whine.

Peter rumbles and he shifts his teeth to the join of neck and shoulder, right where a werewolf's Mating Bite is meant to go on the left side of Chris' neck, and Chris shudders as he digs his fingers into Peter's hips as Peter keeps fucking himself.

There's no fear in Chris' scent, just arousal and _mate_ , love and _trust_ , and Peter digs his teeth in harder, the flesh giving slightly and the blood rushing up to the skin.

_Mine. Mine. **Mine.**_

Peter howls as his teeth sink into the warm flesh of Chris’s throat, finally marking his mate, finally giving the world evidence about who Chris belongs too.

Chris groans and his hips jerk once, twice and then he’s coming, unable to hold back his orgasm.

Pulling his mouth away, Peter licks his lips and stares down at the slack jaw look Chris gives him as he lies there beneath him.

“You always were quick to cum,” Peter smirks, “I thought it was because you were a virgin, didn’t realize I was the reason. Because you’re my mate, and now I’ve finally claimed you.”

“Yeah—yeah, _fuck_ ,” Chris groans as Peter clenches around him, continuing to fuck himself on Chris’s cock.

Chris leans his head back, moaning and whimpering as Peter keeps fucking himself on Chris' cock, and his hands slip to grab Peter's ass as Peter keeps raising himself and dropping down as he fucks himself.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," Chris groans as he fucks up into Peter, his blood trailing down his chest, and Peter groans as he leans down to laps at the blood leaking from _his_ mating-mark. " _Peter_."

Peter growls as he leans back, grabbing a hold of Chris' hair and tugging him until Chris' mouth is hovering over Peter's left mating-gland.

" _Bite me_ ," Peter snarls, and Chris places his teeth in the right place and bites down until Peter's flesh gives, and Peter howls as he cums against Chris, clenching and spasming around Chris' cock and dragging a second orgasm from him.

Chris swallows Peter's blood with a groan before pulling back and watching as it heals into a scar. Chris shivers as he kisses it making Peter shudder over him.

“I’m starting to regret having sex on the couch,” Peter admits, stroking the side of Chris’s face.

“There’s always next time, pumpkin,” Chris turns his head so he can kiss the palm of Peter’s hand.

“Next time? Already feeling adventurous, aren’t we?” Peter lays on top of Chris’s body, clenching around his mate’s cock again and enjoying the way it goes a little soft inside of him.

Chris turns his head so he can kiss Peter’s cheek, “Are you saying there isn’t going to be a next time?”

“Not if my son has anything to say about it. He’d rather have you six feet under the ground than in bed with me.”

Chris grimaces, but he's not surprised.

"He's not happy about this," Chris states as Peter runs his nose against his cheek.

"He's just being protective," Peter trails kisses down Chris' cheek, jaw and his throat until Peter mouths at the mating-mark, and making Chris groan as he leans his head back to give him more room. "He'll get used to you."

"I hope so," Chris says as he feels his cock trying to stir back to hardness in Peter. "Because I'm not leaving you, ever again."

"You know just how to warm my heart," Peter teases as he nips the mark and making Chris jerk with a cut off curse.

"I can't just get hard again _that_ quickly," Chris tells him as he strokes a hand down Peter's back.

"I suppose you're lucky that I like older men," Peter teases as he flicks his tongue over the mark, and making Chris whimper. "But what am I meant to do with _this_?"

Peter rubs his hardening cock against Chris' stomach, and Chris groans as he tugs Peter into a kiss.

“I guess you’ll have to learn to deal with it yourself,” Chris smirks.

Peter tilts his head to the side at that, his eyes glowing red a little bit as he leans down to press a kiss to Chris’s lips, cupping the side of his face and holding it gently while they keep kissing.

A knock on the door startled them both, and Peter is ready to bare his fangs only to freeze to stop when he hears who’s on the other side.

“If you two are done, I’ve got lunch ready,” Derek says, the last part put out a little growled.

“We’ll be ready in a minute, pup,” Peter says cheerily, turning his head to pepper kisses over Chris’ cheek.

He hears a growl from the other side and the sound of Derek turning to walk away.

“Someone’s grumpy today,” Peter jokes, finally getting up and off of Chris.

Walking out of the study wearing nothing as he makes his way to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth. Coming back into the study, Peter smirks at the sight of Chris and then comes over to clean up the cum and blood on the man’s chest.

“Come on,” he tosses the man his clothes before pulling on his pants, “Derek gets grumpy when he has to wait.”

* * *

 _The apartment now stinks of sex_ , Derek thinks as he dishes up lunch.

It's an exaggeration, most of the smell is contained in Peter's study, but some of it had seeped out when he opened the door and it's a subtle yet invading scent of sex, Alpha, _Mom_ and _Chris_ , and it sets off two different instincts in him.

Part of him, the part of him that's a Beta in a Pack, is pleased that his Alpha is happy and being sated by his mate. Beta smells the scent of sex and Alpha, it pleases him and makes him want his own mate, to show off to his Alpha that he has a mate that pleases him.

Part of him, the part of him that's a son who can smell his _mother_ and sex? That part wants to growl, to drag Chris Argent out of their apartment by the back of his neck, and then curl around his mom protectively.

"That looks good, pup," Peter says as he enters the kitchen and wearing only his jeans, moving over and pressing a kiss to Derek's forehead as he takes two plates.

Derek melts slightly under his mother's easy affection and bites back a growl at the invading scent of _Chris Argent_ and sex on his mom, and he moodily adds more food to his plate as Chris Argent enters with a flushed face and slightly messy clothes.

Derek's nostrils flares as he catches the scent of blood, and his gaze darts down to the crook of Chris' neck and he sees the fresh Mating Bite, and his jaw clenches.

 _There's no escaping him now_ , Derek thinks darkly as he moves over to the table and scowls down at his lunch.

Derek takes the only spot empty next to Peter, not wanting to give Chris a chance to sit next to his mother.

He’s almost tempted to bare his fangs at the hunter but stops when he feels Peter stroking his hair.

“This tastes amazing, Pup. Thank you,” Peter smiles.

Ducking his chin down as he smiles a little, “Thank you, Alpha.”

Eating the hot meal he made, Derek keeps sending Chris side glances as the man sits quietly next to him smelling like sex.

When they finish eating, Derek gets up to do the dishes while Chris leaves to get properly dressed.

“You’re going to have to learn to live with him sooner or later,” Peter tells his son, “You’re already friends with Allison. What’s so different about Chris that you can’t make nice with him?”

Derek grumbles as he rinses off the dishes and loads them into the dishwasher.

"Pup," Peter sighs, and Derek turns to look at him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"He hurt you," Derek says, stubbornly keeping to the same reasoning, and Peter gets up and goes over to pull his son in arms, nuzzling against his hair.

"I know and he knows he did," Peter tells him gently as Derek hugs him back and nosing against the right side of Peter's neck, away from the freshly scarred Mating Bite on the left side of Peter's neck. "And he's apologised for that, and you know he has, Pup."

Derek grumbles as his mother kisses his hair and strokes down Derek's back.

"He's not going away, Derek," Peter tells him making him scowl into his mother's shoulder. "He's my mate, and you're my pup, and I want you to get along with each other."

"What if he hurts you again?" Derek asks him, and Peter strokes Derek's hair.

"He probably will," Peter says evenly. "Hurt is part of life, part of relationships, but he's not going to leave again, and I'll probably hurt him too. We'll argue as everyone does, we'll apologise to each other and work not to hurt each other again, and we'll have make-up sex."

"Mom!" Derek protests with a scrunched up nose making Peter chuckle.

"You know it's true," Peter tease him before pressing another kiss to Derek's hair. "I told you, you don't have to defend me against him. I'm perfectly able to defend myself."

“I’ll try. But the moment he hurts you, I’m going to throw him down the stairs,” Derek admits, “He’ll probably break a few bones and get bruised, but he’ll be fine.”

Peter snorts and rolls his eyes, before pressing his teeth to Derek’s shoulder.

“Promise you’ll be nice?”

“I promise I’ll be _nicer_.”

Peter smiles, “Good enough for me.”

Stepping away, Peter leaves the kitchen to follow enter the living room so he can check out the new laptop and phones he bought.

* * *

"So," Lydia begins as they walk through the halls and towards their lockers, "how bad did it get?"

"Out of one to ten?" Allison asks dryly making Lydia nod. "About a fifteen."

"Sounds like that was fun," Lydia says sarcastically, making Allison give a tight smile.

"Loads of fun," Allison says in a falsely bright tone as they come up to Allison's locker. "And loud, very loud."

"Confirmed everything, did they?" Lydia asks with some sympathy as she leans against the lockers as Allison's opens hers.

"And more," Allison says as she exchanges her books. "Turns out they are more bigoted than I first thought, which sucks. I shouldn't have been surprised, but still."

"You hoped they wouldn't prove themselves completely evil," Lydia says in understanding and with a sympathetic smile.

"The way Kate talked about Derek," Allison shakes her head as she almost slams her locker shut. "She kept calling him a _dog_ , spoke like he wasn't a person, and basically bragged."

Allison still feels like she's swallowing bile as she remembers her aunt's comments, and she tries to understand how the person Allison once considered a sister could be so _cruel_ , so evil when talking about a thirteen-year-old boy that she _raped._

A dark look crosses over Lydia’s face at that, how could a human be so fucking cruel and laugh it off like it’s some comedy show?

Kate had burnt down an entire house of people in there, granted some of them _deserved_ to have died but to think of all those kids who were killed in the fire.

“If we could get a recorded message about her saying all these things, we could bring it to the police and put her on trial. Make it seem like she’s a psychopathic rapist.” Lydia says.

“But the only issue with that is getting close enough to her, and having her spill her guts,” Allison plays with the hem of her jacket, “I kind of already admitted whose side I was on, and outed myself as bisexual to my whole family.”

Lydia freezes a little at that, something about Allison’s words makes her cheeks grow a little red and her heart speed a little faster.

 _Allison’s bisexual?_ Glancing away for a moment so she can calm herself down, Lydia pushes a piece of hair behind her ear before turning to look back at her friend.

“Bisexual, huh? I think you’re going to fit in very well with our group of friends,” she smiles at her.

“What do you mean?”

Giving a little eye roll, Lydia lists, “Stiles’ bisexual, Jackson’s gay and I’m a lesbian.”

“Wait. What! I thought you were straight!? And didn’t Jackson say he’s bisexual? Aren’t you and Jackson dating? How does that work?”

“We’re each other’s beards.”

Allison stares at her.

“Oh, you innocent baby gay;

A beard is a slang term to describe a person who poses as a false date or romantic partner to mislead others about the status of a relationship. Jackson didn’t want people to find out he was gay, and I didn’t want people to find out I was more into girls than dick,” Lydia explains simply.

"But you and Jackson have sex," Allison blinks rapidly as she tries to sort out this information.

"I fuck Jackson with a strap-on," Lydia shrugs one shoulder idly as they move towards Lydia's locker. "I get off having complete control over him and turning him into a sobbing mess. We're not sexually attracted to each other, but we both have urges we need to deal with."

Allison flushes at the candid and blunt tone Lydia takes as she explains.

"Normally Jackson cries out Stiles' name, so I know exactly who he's thinking about when I fuck him," Lydia smirks as Allison chokes and leans against the locker next to Lydia's.

"Oh my god," Allison says as Lydia opens her locker. "But you were trying to pull Stiles into your relationship with Jackson."

"Come on," Lydia rolls her eyes. "Picture Jackson and Stiles together, Jackson crying out as Stiles fucks him. Like anyone in their right mind wouldn't want to watch that."

Allison flushes slightly darker but nods thoughtfully.

"Plus I've always wondered what Stiles would be like having sex," Lydia continues in a musing tone. "Stiles has always had crushes on people with _bite_. They are pretty, intelligent, and somewhat _mean_. I want to know if he gets off being in control, under someone else's control or he likes to switch things up."

"I'm surprised that Stiles never had a crush on Jackson then," Allison says as Lydia closes her locker, and Lydia shakes her head in a pitying manner.

"Jackson, for all his asshole-like ways, doesn't have the _bite_ to his personality that attracts Stiles," Lydia explains as she links her arm with Allison. "He's the ultimate bottom, he'd take everything Stiles gave him without a fight or an attempt to take control. Stiles likes a _fight_ , come on, you have to have seen the way he banters with Derek? That's a type of foreplay for Stiles."

"You have put a lot of thought into Stiles and his types," Allison realises almost blankly, feeling shocked.

"I love Jackson," Lydia says simply. "I like to know everything about the people Jackson has more than a passing crush on, so I will know if they will break his heart or not."

“That’s kind of sweet of you, in a way.”

Lydia smiles up at her, “He’s my best friend and has stuck by my side through everything. So I’m a little protective of him and his crushes. Although I doubt he’ll be able to get in between what Derek and Stiles have, add on the fact Derek looks like he could be on the cover of a GQ magazine.”

Allison’s face goes red as she remembers the sight of the shirtless older man, _and_ of Stiles last night—both were very handsome and attractive men.

Lydia, and her ever knowing deduction skills, raises an eyebrow at the brunette.

“What’s that face for?”

“What face?”

“That. You’re blushing. What did you see?” The redhead leans in closer, and gives Allison a cat-like grin, “Did you see them naked?”

“No! Well—mostly shirtless. But that was because Stiles got blood on his shirt, and had to take it off,” Allison admits, covering her face with a hand. “I feel so bad for staring now.”

“Why did Stiles have blood on his shirt?”

“Oh...” Allison looks down at her hands, remembering the whole situation that had happened that night, and the _horrible howling_ sounds she had woken up to. “Derek didn’t take Kate coming back to town so we’ll, he had a nightmare.”

Lydia's face softens at that, "Was he alright this morning?"

Allison chews on her lips as she thinks, "I think so? I mean he glared at Dad, but he was also up early and excising, and Peter mentioned he thought Derek was going to miss breakfast due to it."

Lydia hums thoughtfully as they walk to their first class, "So, Derek has body issues, probably not surprising. Though is it a control thing? Or is there a deeper issue that's causing him to work-out so much?"

"You got all that from him getting up early and working out?" Allison asks incredulously.

"Working out enough to make Peter believe he would miss breakfast," Lydia corrects before side-eyeing Allison in question. "Did Derek come to breakfast on his own or did Peter send Stiles to get him?"

"Stiles went to get him," Allison answers, slightly thrown by the question

"So, Peter probably did that on purpose because Derek can't say no to Stiles if he asked him to come to breakfast," Lydia concludes with a slight frown.

That's concerning, but it would have been worse if Derek had some sort of eating disorder too.

But Lydia is relatively confident that he doesn't, he easily and unconcernedly ate both the pizza and the food Peter cooked, he didn't excuse himself afterwards.

 _Of course, he could be convinced he could work off any additional weight_ , Lydia thinks as she bites down on her lower lip slightly.

"Why doesn't everyone know how smart you are?" Allison asks as she stares at Lydia in some form of awe, and Lydia pinks slightly before tossing her hair back.

"Smart girls don't get popular and rule the school with iron-fists," Lydia says simply, and Allison frowns.

“That’s what media usually says about popular girls. You know you don’t have to hide who you really are with me, I get you’re trying to hide your real-self because of some weird lie media tells us.”

Swallowing, Lydia glances away again, trying not to stare too hard at the sweet, dimpled smile on Allison’s smile.

“Yes, well...I trust you. Not like the other people in this school.”

The bell rings, ending the conversation between the both of them and Lydia feels like a sheet left out in a wind.

Allison turns to watch some of the other kids meander to class.

She turns back to look at Lydia and smiles, “Wanna walk to class together?”

“Sure,” Lydia grins back at her.

* * *

The first period passes by without any sighting of Jackson or Stiles and a lot of puppy-dog eyes from Scott McCall.

Truly, Lydia's almost embarrassed on his behalf.

 _Almost_ being the keyword considering he's a bigoted ass that deserves everything he's getting and didn't deserve Allison. The fact he's also a werewolf and dealing with control issues? Well, Lydia finds herself judging him from obviously not dealing with it and attempting to drown himself in denial.

Lydia likes to think _she_ would have handled the Bite with a lot more grace and actually finding out what her new state entailed, but she also knows the Bite will never be in her future unless there is no other choice.

Some girls can deal with growing sideburns, Lydia doesn't want to be one of them.

But she's mostly concerned for Jackson and Stiles.

Jackson rarely missed a class, and if he did ditch, it was for later classes while Stiles could be late—his timekeeping wasn't always the best—but he's doesn't ditch classes.

Probably due to the school having his father on speed-dial, and having the Sheriff tracking you down for skipping school is probably embarrassing enough to curb any rebellious thoughts in that direction for Stiles.

So, something happened to at least one of them after the boys split from them, and that something Lydia's going to lay at the feet of Scott McCall unless proven otherwise.

There is, of course, could be another reason why both boys are missing, and no doubt a rumour will spread that Jackson Whittemore skipped the first period to make-out or have sex with Stiles Stilinski.

Something Lydia considers ridiculous and not worth seriously considering.

Stiles Stilinski is one of the most ridiculously loyal person that Lydia's ever met, one only had to look at how Stiles still considers Scott a friend despite current events, and thus would never betray Derek in such a way.

And Jackson? Jackson isn't a cheater, and despite his years-long crush on Stiles, just wouldn't.

Pulling out her phone, Lydia sends off a text to Jackson questioning where he’s at and what’s taking him so long.

**Jackson: Scott was a douche to Stiles, and Stiles had a bit of a panic attack in the boys' bathroom. We’re coming to class now.**

**User: Everything alright?**

**Jackson: Yeah. But if I see Scott again I’m kicking his ass, werewolf or not.**

Lydia finds a smirk curling on her face at the sight of that before she’s setting her phone back in her purse, so she can focus on taking her notes.

Stiles comes in five minutes after the bell rings, giving a smile to the teacher before taking his seat behind Lydia.

Allison turns in her seat to give Stiles a look, but the teenager just waves her off with a cheery smile.

“I’m good,” he tries, but Lydia can hear the shaky lie in his voice.

Allison gives him an unconvinced look as Lydia shoots him a flat look over her shoulder, and Stiles slumps slightly in his chair.

"You will be telling us the truth later," Lydia informs him as she turns to face the teacher.

Stiles gives a large sigh but doesn't argue as he pulls out his notebook and a pen, clicking it on and off as he listens to the teacher while ignoring the odd burning stare Scott gives him.

Scott's his friend, his brother, but he doesn't get to demand answers from him nor is he allowed to sprout shit about Peter and Derek.

* * *

The second period both seems to drag on forever and fly by at the same time, and Stiles hasn't even packed away his things before Lydia and Allison are at his desk and waiting--impatiently in Lydia's case.

"Really?" Stiles sighs as he throws his backpack over one shoulder, and immediately he's flanked by two beautiful girls linking their arms with his.

"Did you really expect differently?" Lydia asks as they sweep him out of the class and towards the third period while ignoring the hopefully waiting Scott, who slumps as Allison ignores him but does take the time to glare at Stiles.

"What happened?" Allison says with concern.

"I just had a little run-in with Scott, it's nothing really," Stiles tries to shrug it off, but Jackson snorts as he falls in line with them.

"Yeah, right, that's not what I would call it," Jackson says making Stiles give him a look.

"Can't we just drop it?" Stiles tries, and Jackson gives him a look in return.

"He caused you to have a panic attack," Jackson reminds him flatly.

"It's more like _I_ caused myself a panic attack," Stiles tries to argue.

Lydia looks at Jackson, knowing the teen will crack.

“What happened?”

Jackson gives a slight shrug, “Stiles may or may not have unlocked superpowers, because he was able to keep Scott pinned against the lockers. And there was a dent in them.”

Whipping her head around, Lydia gives Stiles an up and down look before stating, “I guess the lacrosse practice really _is_ working out.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” Stiles crosses his arms.

“Don’t put yourself down so much, Stiles. Your arms have more muscles than you think,” Allison says, looping her arm with Stiles’.

“You’re only saying that because you saw me shirtless,” Stiles huffs.

“You saw Stiles shirtless?” Jackson perks up at that.

"Why are you so eager about the details? You've _already_ seen me naked considering your detailed thinking about my dick!" Stiles says as he shoots Jackson a look.

"Ah yes, _that_ ," Lydia smirks as she turns to Stiles. "Did you put him out of his misery? Seven? Seven-and-a-half? Or bigger?"

Stiles flushes deeply, "Why is everyone so interested in my dick?"

"Science," Lydia replies smoothly as Allison giggles.

"To make sure I have the right sized dildo," Jackson replies bluntly, and Stiles chokes as he trips, and a giggly Allison has to grab his arm to stop him hitting the ground.

 _"What?"_ Stiles exclaims and makes several heads turn to him.

"I'll call it Stiles and nurse my broken heart that way," Jackson continues, and Stiles turns and grabs his shirt.

 _"You will not name a dildo after me!"_ Stiles hisses as he leans closer to Jackson.

"But it's the closest thing I'll ever get to the real thing," Jackson pouts as Allison leans against Lydia as she's overcome with giggles.

"And it's not like it's a new thing," Lydia points out making Stiles give a strangled noise. "He already calls my biggest strap-on Stiles."

“No shame! Absolutely no shame for either of you, I don’t know how I’m going to survive being friends with either of you now.”

“Don’t worry, Stiles,” Jackson throws his arm around his shoulder and leans in a little close. “We’re gonna get along _very_ well.”

“Not unless Scott kills me first, or the crazy ass hunters in town,” Stiles retorts.

The air goes a little cold at that.

“Yes. We will be discussing more details about that whole arrangement with Peter after school.”

Raising an eyebrow, Stiles gawks a little at the redhead, “So you’re joining the Pack?”

“Yes. But I’ve decided I’m not taking the Bite, as nice as it sounds. I don’t think I’d look well with sideburns,” Lydia grins, “And besides, I like being human.”

Giving Jackson a nudge, Stiles asks, “And what about you?”

"I already said I was joining the Pack," Jackson pulls Stiles close. "I said that last night, and I'm not changing my mind."

"I was talking about the Bite, and you know it," Stiles grumbles as Jackson nuzzles at his hair, his old behaviour coming back in play when it comes to Stiles and making a lot more sense considering Peter is his biological dad and a werewolf.

Jackson's a human with wolfish instincts, instincts that probably demanded Pack, scent-marking, and all the shit that others deemed weird, but Stiles hadn't because Peter had always done the same things to Stiles.

It's what made them best friends.

Stiles never complained when Jackson just needed to curl up with Stiles, nuzzling at him like an overgrown puppy, and Stiles could happily chatter on while Jackson listened. Stiles didn't shrug off any of Jackson's touches or cared if he got clingy, or anything like that.

"I'm going to take it," Jackson decides after a moment, and Stiles bites his lip.

He wants to object, to say something against it, but that would make him a hypocrite considering he attempted to take the Bite and really, all his fears about it was mixed up with Scott and how he's changing.

If anything, it'd probably settle something in Jackson, to stop him warring with what people say humans should act and the instincts that tell him to act like this.

And Jackson's choosing this, consenting to the Bite, and going into it with eyes wide open and with an Alpha that will do everything he can to teach him control.

No, Jackson wouldn't be like Scott.

If anything, Jackson will probably be more tactile and clingy after the Bite.

Smiling, Stiles gives the younger teenager a bit of a nudge, “I’m glad.”

“What that I’m going to get hairy once a month?”

Snorting, Stiles rolls his eyes and answers, “No, I’m glad you’re not freaking out over the fact you have a birth parent alive, and also Derek’s your older brother.”

Jackson blows air through his nose, “Do you think I could kick his ass with the Bite?”

Stiles thinks back to Derek’s exercise regime and the 200 pounds of muscles.

Blushing as he remembers the sweat dripping down Derek’s skin, and the tight boxer shorts the man wore as he worked out.

“Definitely not,” Stiles answers back.

“We’ll see about that. I’m going to kick his ass when I get the Bite.”

"Watching two men wrestle for dominance," Lydia muses as they enter their classroom. "And the prize being Stiles' big dick."

"Why is my dick being brought into this _again_?" Stiles whines as they take their seats, the boys sitting behind the girls.

"Should we slick them up with baby oil first?" Allison asks teasingly with a smirk making Lydia laugh.

"No! Not you too, Allison!" Stiles gapes at her in betrayal.

"We'll have to put Stiles in a tiny pair of boxers to show off the prize fully," Lydia continues as Stiles flushes.

"Lacy boxers?" Jackson suggests hopefully and Stiles flails a hit towards him.

"Don't bring your fantasises into this!" Stiles almost yelps and Jackson pretends to whine.

"But I have so _many!_ " Jackson says making Stiles' jaw drop, and Allison erupts into giggles at the look on his face.

"Do I want to know?" Danny asks as he slides into the seat behind Jackson.

"Jackson's finally telling Stiles about all his fantasies," Lydia informs him, and Danny blinks and nods.

"He's got a _very_ long list written down," Danny says, and Jackson almost yelps as he turns to stare at Danny.

"How do you know _that_?" Jackson asks with a flushed expression on his face.

"I'm a computer genius," Danny replies flatly as he stares as Jackson's face takes a darker red. "And you left it open, I can't believe you actually numbered them."

“You have a list—you know what? I don’t wanna know. All your fantasies can stay on that list because they’re never going to happen,” Stiles shakes his head and runs a hand over his buzzcut. “Anyways, I have to get to focus class and _not_ think about the fact Jackson has a dildo named after me.”

“Not yet.” Jackson corrects.

“Please, Jax. Please, stop,” he begs.

“No,” Jackson smirks.

Turning to Danny, Stiles flails his hands in front of him, “Do something with him!”

“Why is he _my issue_?” Danny raises an eyebrow.

"He's _your_ best friend," Stiles says making Danny's eyebrow inch slightly higher.

"He was _your_ childhood best friend," Danny reminds Stiles, and Stiles flails slightly.

"He didn't care about the size of my dick back then!" Stiles exclaims and there's a sudden hush in the room as Danny leans back in his chair with a giant smirk. "I said that louder than I meant to, didn't I?"

"Yes," Lydia nods with a smirk as Allison wheezes with laughter.

"Oh my god," Stiles closes his eyes tightly, his face a bright red as whispers and giggles erupted around him. "This can't get any worse."

They are Stiles' famous last words.

"While I'm sure Bilinski's dick is impressive," a horribly familiar voice and nickname makes Stiles twitch and slip down in his chair. "Class is about to start, so save the dick talk for later."

* * *

Dripping with sweat after lacrosse practice, Stiles groans as he steps out of the school and spots his boyfriend leaning against the Camaro.

The man looks like he just walked out of a teen drama show, and is supposed to be playing the mysterious guy character everyone thinks is the villain but is actually good.

Walking over to where he’s standing, Stiles lets himself fall against Derek’s chest and nuzzles against the black Henley he’s wearing.

Derek chuckles over him, “Tired?”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles nods his head, turning it so he can rub his cheek against the soft texture.

“Come on,” Derek gives him a little nudge and then pauses.

Looking up, Stiles freezes a little when he sees Scott glaring at him from where he’s grabbing his bike.

Derek makes a small growl under his breath but other than that doesn’t say anything, he tugs on Stiles’ arm which gets the teenager moving.

Getting into the passenger seat, Stiles huffs as he sees Scott biking off as fast as he can.

“Don’t worry about him,” Derek tells him, putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

“I know—I just—we were close and it’s hard to get it through my head how much of an asshole he is,” Stiles admits, crossing his arms over his chest, “Everyone was so quick to jump aboard the Hate Scotty boat, and I know I should be on there too. But I can’t help, but want to give him a second chance.”

Derek's jaw clenches slightly, "He hurt you."

"He didn't mean to," Stiles argues for what feels like the hundredth time. "And anyway, I could have hurt him today just as easily, would have if he didn't have werewolf healing."

Derek glances over in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"He pissed me off, and I pinned him against the lockers," Stiles says after chewing on his lips for a moment. "I mean, I actually pinned him against the lockers and apparently dented them with the force I was using."

Derek bites back his first comment and his second comment because they were both along the same line of "good" and "he deserved it", and thinks over what Stiles actually told him and makes an interesting noise.

"Huh," Derek glances over. "Think it happened due to your Spark?"

"Either that or the Bite actually did something," Stiles chews on his thumb. "I mean, apart from the whole Pack thing. Still, it freaked me out a bit."

"We can ask Mom about it," Derek says, and Stiles nods before he realises that Derek's heading back to the apartment.

"Err, Derek?" Stiles says hesitantly, and Derek glances over with a hum. "You do remember I'm spending the night with my dad, right?"

Everything in Derek seems to freeze and turn cold, his very being rebelling against the reality of having his mate parted from him, but with jerky motions, he took a turn that would lead them to the Sheriff's house.

"Sorry," Derek says gruffly, eyes fixed on the road as his wolf howls in protest in his head. "I forgot. "

Derek had meant to take Stiles home, meant to show off their den and spent some of the night cuddling in the newly built bed and making the sheets smell like _StilesandDerek_.

That had been his plan, it had been his plan since he drove back to pick Stiles up after he already picked Allison up.

He had completely forgotten that Stiles isn't coming home tonight, he's not going to see their den, he's not going to cuddle with Derek and make their bed smell just right.

“Derek? Are you okay, dude?”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek snaps, before pulling himself back. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong? You seem really upset,” When the older man doesn’t answer, Stiles rolls his eyes and pokes at the man. “Derek, what’s _wroooong_?”

“I’m just agitated,” the werewolf answers in a growl.

“Why?” Stiles rests his chin on the console of the Camaro so he can have an excuse to stare at his boyfriends face.

“Chris,” he lies.

“Chris?”

“I just—I don’t like how quickly Peter got back with that man. It makes my wolf angry, and I don’t like it because Chris _hurt_ my mother and I cannot forgive that.”

Smiling, Stiles leans forward when they hit the stoplight to press his nose against Derek’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay to get protective over your mom. I think it’s kind of cute, to be honest,” Stiles tells him, letting a hand rest on Derek’s bicep. “And I get where you’re coming from, but I think you should give Chris a chance. You don’t have to like the guy, but at least give him the time to prove himself that he’s not going to hurt your mom.”

Derek grumbles wordlessly at that, annoyed that even Stiles wants him to give Chris a chance.

"And hey, do you think Peter would just let Chris hurt him again?" Stiles snorts. "He'd make Chris regret it."

Derek harrumphs at that, but can't protest because his mom would totally do that.

"Hey," Stiles strokes his hand down Derek's still tense arm. "If you can't deal with him tonight or just want some space to figure out how to deal with him, you can always come over."

Derek moves his arm and links his fingers with Stiles', resting their joined hands on his thigh as he drives one-handed for a while and he squeezes Stiles' hand, "Thanks."

"Anytime," Stiles squeezes Derek's hand back before releasing his hand and letting him drive the rest of the way to his house in slightly less silence.

Derek can feel the tension building in him as they drive closer and closer to the Sheriff's house.

“You know, I just realized we left your car at the apartment buildings. Maybe we should turn back.” Derek tries, fighting every human thought and trying to get his mate _home_ and into his _den_.

Stiles, however, doesn’t seem to notice his struggle and just shrugs, “It’s fine, you guys drive me everywhere anyway, I can get it the next time I come around. Although, I am a bit sad I won’t get to wear any of the new clothes Peter bought for me.”

Biting on his tongue to hold back the whine in his throat, Derek nods his head and keeps driving.

When they pull up into the driveway, he feels like he’s about to burst out of his skin and wolf out.

Stiles strokes a hand down his arm again, leaning over the console of the car to press a chaste kiss to Derek’s cheek before getting out.

“Man, I cannot wait to take a shower,” he says happily, lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his forehead.

Turning his head he frowns when he sees Derek still sitting in his car, “Der, do you want to come in?”

“I...Yes.”

 _We can scent his room, it’s fine_ , Derek thinks to himself as he shuts the car door and makes sure it’s locked.

“Okay cool, maybe we can cuddle on my bed for a bit if you’re okay with that?” Stiles pulls out his keys to unlock the front door, happy to be home even though a part of him misses the apartment.

Derek hovers closely behind Stiles, resisting the urge to press himself against Stiles and bury his face against Stiles' neck.

"Sounds good," Derek answers somewhat belatedly as Stiles opens the door.

"Great," Stiles grins over his shoulder as he steps into the house with Derek close behind him. "Though I need a shower first."

Derek frowns slightly, disliking the delay in cuddling, "Why didn't you shower at school?"

Stiles freezes slightly in the act of locking the door and gives an awkward chuckle, "You know, just Jackson."

"Jackson?" Derek frowns in confusion. "What does he have to do with it?"

Stiles flushes in embarrassment, not really sure how to say exactly what the problem is.

"I've never shown you my room, have I?" Stiles says rather loudly as he grabs Derek's hand and tugs him behind up as he almost charges up the stairs, hoping to distract Derek from his question.

"Stiles," Derek comes to a stop on the landing and tugs Stiles back. "Did Jackson do something?"

" _No_ ," Stiles says, cursing as Derek's gaze flickers down with a frown and he amends his answer. "Kind of?"

"What's that meant to mean?" Derek scowls slightly, tugging his hand from Stiles' and crossing his arms over his chest as he waits.

"Okay," Stiles sighs as he drags a hand over his hair. "So, apparently whenever we shower, Jackson's been sort of watching me?"

"Watching you?" Derek asks blankly, and Stiles flushes deeply.

"He's been trying to judge how big my dick is," he finally blurts, and Derek feels himself freeze. "All day he’s been talking about if it's seven inches or seven and a half, and then Lydia would chime in with a suggestive 'or is it bigger?', and now I know he's watching, it makes me feel awkward. So, I kind of just skipped it."

Derek's brain seems to have hit a blip, repeating seven inches or seven and a half, and a strange heat seems to spread in his stomach as he feels himself twitch in his boxers.

"So, yeah, I'm going to shower," Stiles finishes awkwardly.

Derek grabs Stiles’ hand before the teenager can completely escape from him, dragging him back in his arms so he can hug him again.

“If it’s really bothering you, I’ll talk to him. _And_ Lydia about it. You shouldn’t have to worry about taking a shower because you know someone’s watching you, and it’s creepy of him to do something like that,” Derek tells him, holding back on the urge to go find Jackson and pulverize him.

“I—no. It’s fine, I’ll speak to them about it. I just—can I please take a shower now?” Stiles fidgets a little.

“Yeah—sorry,” Derek pulls his arms back quickly, his stomach sinking with the feeling that he’s done something wrong.

Glancing back at his boyfriend, Stiles watched as the man shuffles around in his room like an awkward giant before settling down in his desk chair.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles comes over to press a kiss to the top of Derek’s head before leaving him alone to finally take a shower.

Derek slumps down in the chair with some relief and glances around Stiles' room with some curiosity.

Derek wrinkles his nose slightly as he smells the lingering scent of Scott, and he glances towards the door as he hears the shower turn on before he stands and moves around the room.

Wherever Scott's scent lingers, Derek touches and rubs his scent over it, rumbling quietly as his scent erases the other Beta's.

Derek glances towards Stiles' bed, tempted to roll in it now, but resists the urge as he moves over to look at Stiles' bookshelves—all the books jammed together as if to squeeze in as many books as possible, all the spines were broken and lined deeply showing they've been read and re-read several times.

Derek can't help, but think they would look right on the shelves in his room, _their_ den, as he picks up one of Stiles' figures set up off the books, twisting the miniature dragon in his hand before placing it back down and continuing his inspection of his mate's room.

There's a Mets flag hanging out of a mug used a pen holder on Stiles' desk—several half-used clicky pens and several highlights jammed tightly in—and Stiles' laptop.

Derek blinks and moves to see clearly, pulling a clear board on wheels further into view, and he flickers his gaze all over it.

Printed pages of lore about werewolves are pinned on it, copies of the murder reports, things about the Hale Fire—newspaper reports, copied images of the police report—Derek's mugshot, an old photo of Laura and a copied photo of a younger Peter is also pinned on it with several strings attaching them.

Tilting his head to the side, he takes a closer look at the board Stiles has in his room.

It seems Stiles was working in the Hale fire before all of this happened, or at least before he joined the Pack.

It makes Derek wonder why.

Why did Stiles feel so invested in the murder of his family? When he could have just ignored it and dealt with Scott.

Lifting one of the photos, Derek pauses when he sees a photo of Peter and Claudia.

He only had vague memories of Stiles’ mom, but with them always brought the smell of sunshine and warm cookies.

Derek remembers Peter spending nights or _days_ at the Stilinski’s household while he was growing up.

He didn’t understand it at the time, thought it was because Peter got drunk or was fucking someone. Never thought it was because he was very close friends with Claudia and the fact he was escaping his abusers.

“Oh, yeah...”

Startling, Derek drops the photo back to the desk.

“Sorry,” he moves his hands back. “I didn’t mean to look through your stuff.”

“It’s fine. I just...thought you might get angry that I was looking into your family. I should have put it away before you got here.”

"It's fine," Derek glances over as Stiles comes further into the room wearing an old and faded Beacon County navy t-shirt that probably belonged to his father before Stiles took it and a baggy pair of sweatpants. "Why..."

Stiles comes closer, smelling a little guilty, "Why what?"

"You were looking into this before we became Pack," Derek licks his lips slightly as he looks back to board. "Why?"

"Oh," Stiles hesitates a moment before grabbing a photo-frame from one of his bedside tables and holding it out to Derek. "I suppose it's because of this."

Derek takes the photo-frame and looks at the photo in silence.

The first person he notices is Peter, young and happy in a way he rarely seemed to be at the Hale House now Derek looks back through his memories, and he's lying on his back with a 'dead' expression on his face.

The second person is a much younger Stiles, chubby-cheeked and gaped-toothed, and he's perched on Peter's stomach with a false-sword raised high in triumph.

"I said it already, didn't I?" Stiles rubs the back of his head as he tries to find the right words. "Peter often looked after me or played with me, he was basically like an uncle. I suppose if my mom cared about such things, he would have been made my godfather.

I was eleven when the fire happened, still dealing with what happened to my mom, and suddenly he was gone too. The hospital already knew me, so when I found out he was there, well, I kept ditching class to be with him.

I thought if I was there, if I kept talking to him, then he'd wake up and be fine," Stiles shakes his head. "I didn't understand what they meant when they told me he was put in a medical coma, not really, and I didn't understand just how badly he was hurt.

Eventually, they moved him to that long-term care place, and it wasn't somewhere I could just bike too whenever I wanted, so the visits kind went down as I had to wait for Dad to take me. It wasn't until I was older that I wanted to know what happened."

“I...” Derek takes the photo from Stiles’ hand to get a closer look at it, thumbing over the happy face in his mother’s face in it.

Peter looked...he looked like a man who had never been tortured or burned alive, never had demons following him around everywhere he went. He looked happy and something howls inside of Derek’s chest at that.

His mother. _His mother._

Peter was probably happier being with the Stilinski’s than he was in his own family home.

Derek wished— _god he wished_ —he hadn’t fallen into Talia’s manipulation, hadn’t let her feed him with poisonous lies that made him hate his mother.

“Derek.”

Warm hands cup his face and wipe away the tears Derek didn’t even know he was shedding.

“Derek, you’re crying?” Stiles says worriedly.

“I—Yeah, I guess I am,” Derek wipes at his face, “I wish—I wish I was the son Peter should have had. The one he got to raise and didn’t have to deal with Talia and—and _my father._ ”

"Derek," Stiles pulls Derek into a hug. "Peter loves you. Yeah, he probably wanted to be the one to raise you, but it doesn't mean he loves you any less. It's not your fault that Talia was an evil bitch, and don't even get me started on _that_ man."

"He looks so happy in the photo," Derek carefully places it on Stiles' desk before hugging Stiles back. "He was never happy like that back at the house."

"I bet he was happy, I bet he was like that whenever he was with you," Stiles strokes a hand up and down his back, and Derek shudders as he clings tighter to Stiles.

He wants to refute it, wants to say that Stiles is wrong, but...

But he remembers Peter smiling at him so happy when Derek would eat the cookies Peter baked especially for _him._

 _"This is our secret, okay Pup?"_ Peter would ask, running his fingers through Derek's hair and pressing a loving kiss to his forehead.

He remembers every time Peter would sneak into his room whenever Derek had nightmares. He remembers the soft look on Peter's face, the way he'd lovingly wipe away his tears, and the quiet happiness that infused his scent whenever Derek snuggled into him.

He remembers every time Peter would come back from the Stilinski's and Derek would frown at the scent of Stiles' all over him and would cling to Peter until Peter smelled like him, and Peter would hide his smile in Derek's hair as he carried Derek around easily.

It wasn't how it should have been, but Derek still treasures those memories, holds them close as proof that Peter _did_ have some happy memories with him.

Clearing his throat, Derek scrubs at his face and straightens up.

“You need to study,” he rumbles out, moving to walk around Stiles’ room. “I can’t have you failing because I can’t keep my emotions in check.”

Stiles makes a face at that, tilting his head to the side a bit before shrugging it off. Picking the picture up, Stiles walks over and hands it to Derek.

“Here, keep it. You should have something that makes you smile,” Stiles grins, and then moves to sit back in his seat. “You don’t have to leave yet, you know. You can chill on my bed if you want.”

He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal, but Stiles really doesn’t want Derek to leave yet.

“Sure.”

Kicking off his shoes, Derek walks over to Stiles’ bookshelf to pull out something to keep him busy.

But with no intention to actually read the book, because the moment he’s lying on Stiles’ bed, all Derek wants to do is sleep and roll around on his sheets.

Derek peeks up at Stiles after stretching out, but Stiles looks already engrossed as he spreads out his books and notebook across his desk, and Derek silently places the book on the bedside table before giving in.

Derek rolls across the bed, rubbing his cheek all over Stiles' pillow, before curling up slightly as he lets his eyes close to the sound of Stiles muttering and writing and surrounded by the scent of his mate.

It's relaxing, and before he knows it, Derek's breathing deepens as he dozes off.

* * *

Stiles focuses on his homework for almost an hour before his focus gets pulled away when he hears a little soft snore coming from behind him.

Turning in his seat, Stiles grins when he spots Derek curled around one of his pillows, face pressed up against the plush pillow and his hair a bit of a mess.

“Cute,” Stiles mutters to himself, pulling out his phone to take a photo of his boyfriend cuddling his pillow. “So cute.”

Getting out of his seat, Stiles crosses the room to sit on the edge of the bed, lifting a hand so he can run his fingers through Derek’s hair and smiling when the werewolf makes soft snuffling noises. Yelping when arms wrap around his waist and drag him down onto the bed, Stiles squirms around for a bit until he feels a nose press against his throat.

“Derek?”

The older man rumbles softly, “Mate, sleep.”

“Dude, I still need to finish my homework,” Stiles frowns, but then turns over to smile at his boyfriend, shivering at how warm the man’s body is. “I can cuddle afterwards, I promise.”

“No. Now,” Derek curls up harder around him.

“Cuddle wolf,” Stiles teases, “And you say you aren’t a teddy bear.”

Derek gives off a little growl, but it's ruined by the way Derek nuzzles at Stiles' neck and nips at it.

"Cuddle," Derek demands in a sleepy and sulky tone. "Now."

Stiles fakes a huge sigh as he settles down, the heat Derek gives off making him feel sleepy without adding how nice it was for Derek to cuddle him.

"Fine," Stiles says in a falsely reluctant tone, and Derek rumbles happily as he tucks his mate's head under his chin.

Stiles' can't help, but press a kiss to the hollow of Derek's throat, and the rumble deepens for a moment as Derek's arms tighten around Stiles.

Stiles would like it to go on record that he hadn't actually meant to go to sleep, he only wanted to cuddle for a bit despite how sleepy he suddenly felt surrounded by Derek's warm and strong body.

But Stiles is a weak, _weak_ , man when it comes to Derek, and he slips into sleep far too easily.

Stiles wakes what seems like just a moment later and also hours at the same time, and he realises they had shifted some in their sleep.

Stiles closes his eyes tightly and tries to keep himself calm as he realises he's pressed tightly against Derek's back, effectively being the bigger spoon, and his crotch his nestled against Derek's tight ass.

 _Now is **not** the time to be getting hard_, he informs his dick firmly.

"I suppose I should be glad you are both fully dressed," a dry and very familiar voice remarks from his doorway and any idea his dick had about getting hard are firmly doused.

"Hey Dad," Stiles props himself up to smile weakly at his father. "You're home."

"Nothing gets passed your keen observant skills, huh?" Noah asks dryly as he arches an eyebrow at his son still pressed tightly against Derek.

“I swear, nothing was going on here! We weren’t—“

He stops when his dad brings a hand up to stop him, “I know son, I was just joking.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles falls back on the bed, stroking Derek’s bare arm.

“But, I do need to speak to you about some things. Downstairs,” Noah turns from the sight of his son spooning against the back of an older man.

Pressing his lips to the back of Derek’s neck, he presses a kiss to the warm skin right there before getting out of the bed.

Rubbing at his hair, Stiles makes his way down the stairs to catch his dad in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.

“You’re going back to work?” His heart falling a little at the sight.

“Unfortunately, working as the sheriff means I never get a break. And since I’m reworking on the Hale case again, I’ll need to be in my office more. It’s not that I don’t want to be here with you, but after Peter woke up things have been a bit of a mess,” his dad explains to him, “Not to mention the wild animal attack that happened last night.”

“The what?!”

Stiles' heart seems to trip over itself before thudding loudly in his ears as he stares at his dad.

"Yeah," Noah scrubs a hand over his face, "an animal was badly savaged and found dead on one of the more popular trails in the Preserve this morning. We got called in considering both Laura Hale and Garrison Myers were put down as being attacked by an animal."

"It wasn't Peter or Derek," Stiles says as his mind races, and Noah gives him a look.

"I know," Noah says in confusion. "I wasn't blaming them for it."

"Where was Scott last night?" Stiles asks, ignoring his dad for now as his mind tries to make sense of _another_ animal attack—was it a proper animal attack or a werewolf attack?

"At home, I suppose," Noah says as his face clears, and he grabs Stiles' shoulders. "Stiles, I'm not looking into a person attacking the animal."

"You're not?" Stiles frowns in confusion because that would be _his_ first thought, considering werewolves and everything.

"It was probably just a normal animal attack," Noah tells him as he squeezes Stiles' shoulder. "We _do_ get them. It's just because of the two other 'animal attacks' that this one is getting so much attention."

“Oh,” Stiles says almost dumbly.

“I know you're worried, but at least give your old man some credit that he knows how to do his job.”

“Right...right. Um—how king do you have until you have to go back in? Maybe I can make us something quick for dinner,” Stiles moves to the refrigerator, opening it and checking the contents inside of it.

“I’ve got enough time to sit down and eat, as long as you aren’t making one of your _healthier_ dishes,” Noah shrugs out of his jacket, setting it on one of the chairs.

“Quit acting like you don’t enjoy my cooking,” Stiles smiles as he pulls out stuff to make a quick omelette for them both.

Noah huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches his son cook at the counter, “Some things I do like. Other things I’m almost tempted to arrest you for making me eat that nasty shit.”

“Oh, haha. You’re gonna eat what I make you, and you’re going to like it old man.”

Noah scoffs as he leans back in his chair and watches, "Sometimes I think you are trying to poison me."

"I'm trying to keep you alive to see retirement and after," Stiles informs him in an offended tone. "Despite you being ungrateful and trying to sneak junk into your diet."

"You do remember I am the parent, right?" Noah asks dryly, and Stiles pins him with a flat look.

"Do _you_ remember what your doctor said?" Stiles asks in his own dry tone, and Noah grumbles slightly. "Think you'll be gone all night?"

Noah gives a guilty look towards Stiles' back, feeling bad that he told Stiles to come home especially so they could spend together and then having to bail on Stiles because of work, _again._

"Probably," Noah sighs as he watches Stiles' shoulder slump slightly. "Think you could spend the night over Peter's again? I prefer the thought of you having people around you with Hunters in town."

"Sure," Stiles nods as he pours the omelette mixture into the pan.

Stiles tries to pretend like he’s not excited at the prospect of staying the night at Peter’s again.

Sure he does miss his own room a bit, but there’s just something about being at Peter’s apartment that gives him that sense of _home_ he’s been missing.

Humming, Noah pulls his phone out to check on some notes he’d taken before coming home.

He had been checking out the Hale case again, connecting dots and filling in areas so he could finally get some things on Kate Argent and put her behind bars.

Before Peter went feral and killed her on sight.

A part of him _almost_ wants to let Peter get the satisfaction of killing his son’s rapist, but he doesn’t want any of Peter’s psyche to be destroyed by doing so.

The man was standing on a double-sided blade, he had just woken up from a six-year coma in which he was being tortured the entire time, killed his niece, and finally had his family back.

It was a whirlwind of events and killing the woman who burned his house down and raped his son, who knows what that would do to the man?

Give him the justice he needs? Feed into his hunger for revenge? Throw him back into being the raging bloodthirsty animal he was before?

He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to guess to see what would happen.

It doesn't take long before Stiles is plating up two omelettes, hoping that Derek doesn't wake up and is hungry because he doubts he's had enough time to fix Derek something and have time with his dad.

"Thanks," Noah says as Stiles places his plate in front of him and Stiles sits across the table to him with his own plate. "Looks good."

"It's just an omelette," Stiles rolls his eyes despite feeling a bit of pride in the way Noah digs in eagerly.

"And it's just what I need," Noah informs him as Stiles smiles slightly as he cuts into his omelette. "So, how was your day?"

Stiles almost chokes on his bite of the omelette as his mind automatically flashes back to Lydia's and Jackson's teasing, and he gets up to grab a bottle of water from the fridge as his dad eyes him with concern and amusement.

"So, _that_ interesting then," Noah remarks dryly as Stiles finishes take a big gulp of water before coming back to his chair. "Anything suitable to be shared with your old man?"

"Uh," Stiles struggles to think of something. "Jackson's going to ask for the Bite?"

"Is he now?" Noah arches a brow as he thinks it over. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that," he then sends a dry look towards Stiles, "at least he's thinking it through properly."

Stiles flushes, but can't really argue against _that_.

"Any more problems with Scott?" Noah asks almost wearily, and Stiles makes a face which only makes Noah sigh. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No," Stiles shakes his head as he finishes in his head, _but I almost hurt him._

“I talked to Melissa about some of the stuff going on last night,” Noah tells him, “I didn’t tell her about werewolves in general, but her son was being a problem to some of the kids in class.”

“How did she take it?”

“As well as any parent can when they’re being told their child isn’t as sweet as they thought they were,” he admits, “She thinks it’s just teenage angst, and all I’m hoping is that Scott is going to pull his head out of his ass soon before he does something irreversible.”

“Me too,” Stiles pushes the food on his plate around a bit before finishing the rest of it.

Picking up their plates and putting them in the sink, Stiles turns to give his dad a hug and a pat on the back before watching him head back to the station.

“Damn,” Stiles scrubs at his fuzzy hair, squinting a little when he feels his hair has gotten a little longer.

 _Maybe I’ll buzz it down again_ , he thinks to himself as he turns around to finish up the dishes.

* * *

When he climbs the stairs where his room is, Stiles pauses when he sees Derek sitting up in his bed and rubbing at his face.

“Had a good nap, sleepy wolf?”

Derek makes a noise and holds out one arm as he wipes the sleep from his eyes, and Stiles smiles as he walks over to Derek.

Derek's arm wraps around Stiles' waist and pulls him close, rubbing his face against Stiles' chest as Stiles' arms loop around Derek's neck as Stiles stands between Derek's legs.

"Your dad was here?" Derek asks thickly as one of Stiles' hands rake through his hair and making him give a slight rumble.

"Yeah," Stiles bents slightly to give a kiss to Derek's head. "He's going to be gone all night, so I'm free to spend the night over yours again."

Derek rumbles louder, liking the thought of his mate in the Pack's den and then in _their_ den, laid out on _their_ bed.

"Happy wolf, huh?" Stiles says in a teasing tone, and Derek looks up at Stiles' face with a soft and pleased look.

"Yeah," Derek admits a bit shyly. "I've got something to show you."

"Ooh," Stiles drawls out the sound. "Now that makes me curious."

Stiles pulls away from Derek and packs away all his books and homework in his bag, debating his laptop for a moment before squeezing it and his charger in, remembering he left his phone charger at Peter's too.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks as he stretches out his back.

"I want to know what you want to show me," Stiles informs him as he places his bag on the bed before going over to his draws and pulling out a pair of Superman socks to wear before putting on his shoes and grabbing his bag. "Come on, I'll finish my homework at Peter's with Allison.”

Not one to argue with the fact his mate wants to spend more time at the Pack’s apartment, Derek quickly pulls on his shoes and grabs his keys from where he left them on Stiles’ desk.

Pausing for a moment, Derek picks up the photo Stiles had shown him earlier, removes it from the frame and then places it into his wallet.

* * *

Following Stiles downstairs and to the Camaro, Derek takes a quick look around the area before getting into the driver’s seat.

Years of being on the run with Laura have fought him to always be on his toes, looking around everywhere he is in case there’s a hunter lurking around the area.

Don’t trust anyone.

They had learned that the hard way, before finally settling down in New York for a while, until they got called back to Beacon Hills.

Stiles fiddles with the radio in the Camaro before sitting back in his seat when he finds the rock station, humming along with the Imagine Dragon’s song that’s playing on the radio.

“So how has your day been? Bored without me?” Stiles teases

“Peaceful,” Derek lies, grinning when Stiles lightly punches his arm.

“Asshole, you’d miss me. Be honest. I’m the light of your day,” Stiles throws his arms behind his head as he relaxes in the passenger seat.

 _You’re my mate. I’m always going to miss you when you’re gone,_ Derek thinks but doesn’t speak out of fear and rejection.

Yawning, Stiles smacks his lips as he speaks, “Man, I hope Peter made something good tonight.”

"You're already thinking about food?" Derek asks with a snort as he pulls away and starts heading home, to the safety of the den. "It smells like you just ate."

"I'm a growing young man, Derek," Stiles informs him in a snooty like tone. "I am _always_ hungry."

Derek snorts, "You get hungry after arguments and you're always hungry? Why are you so skinny then?"

"Someone is starting to sound like his mother," Stiles tuts making Derek huff out a laugh. "Okay, maybe I'm always hungry for Peter's cooking. I could eat that food forever."

 _You can_ , Derek thinks to himself, the words catching in his throat. _Stay with me forever._

Derek almost shakes his head angrily: humans didn't like how clingy and needy wolves were, always found them too much too soon, and Stiles would definitely be scared off if Derek let on that Stiles is his mate.

Now, he had to take it slow, remember to be _human_.

* * *

When they get to the apartment, Stiles is practically bouncing in his seat with excitement to see what Derek had to show him while Derek on the other hand is just trying to hide his nervousness.

The first thing Stiles does when he enters the apartment is sniff— _heh, sniff_ —out Peter and drag the man into a hug.

“I thought you were supposed to be spending the night at your dad’s house,” Peter says with some confusion from where he’s standing in the kitchen, giving in he throws his arms around the teenager and noses against his hair.

“Dad got called into the station again, wants me to stay the night here because he wants me to be safe,” Stiles says against Peter’s chest, grinning when the Alpha squeezes his arms around him a little harder.

“You’re always welcomed here, Stiles. Now, off you go, I need to finish cooking dinner,” Peter motions with his hands for them to leave as he turns back around to focus on his onion and garlic soup.

“Yes, sir,” Stiles gives a little salute and then turns to find Derek.

“So what is it you wanted to show me?” Stiles asks as he loops his arms around one of Derek’s.

Derek swallows slightly, realising how silly his excitement will seem to a human, and almost wants to take everything back.

But Stiles is looking at him so expectantly, almost hugging Derek's arm to his chest, and Derek leads them to his room on leaden down legs.

 _He's going to think this is stupid_ , Derek thinks to himself as he tries the make the walk last longer. _He's going to think **I'm** stupid._

Derek remembers the way Kate would laugh at him or make a snide little comment whenever he did anything wolfish. The roll of her eyes as she reminded him not to act like such a _dog._

 _He's going to laugh at me_ , Derek realises as he stares at his door, feeling sick. _He's going to realise what a freak I am and leave me._

Stiles bounces eagerly at his side, brimming with impatience, and Derek feels like he's swallowing bile as he twists the doorknob and pushes it open.

Derek stands numbly as Stiles enters and looks around with bright curious eyes, reaching out to brush his fingers over Derek's books, lingering over the ones with the most broken spines, and taking in light green painted walls and the dark wood heavy-looking furniture.

There's a brand-new laptop on the desk tucked in the corner with that old baby-blanket thrown over the back of desk-chair, old trophies lined up neatly on several shelves, several plump pillows on the double-bed and a soft-looking blanket folded across the end of the bed—the blue popping out from the dark green sheets.

But otherwise, the room seems a bit bare, missing something extra on the shelves or hanging from the walls.

There still is no denying whose room it was though.

"This is your room, right?" Stiles asks as he looks towards a blanked-face Derek, his smile almost slipping as he's come to realise Derek going blank isn't a good thing to happen, and his boyfriend nods in a short and quick bob. "I like it."

Relief almost makes Derek feel weak as he steps into his room, into _their_ hopeful den.

“You do?” Feeling the courage to ask, Derek takes another step closer to Stiles.

“Uh, _yeah_. Dude, I wish my room was this nice. Also, you have bookshelves! I just have one,” Stiles walks over there and makes a noise as he lifts a baby photo Peter had given Derek while he was cleaning his room. “Look at your ears! Oh my god! How old were you in this? Six? Eight? Look at that cute baby face, I just wanna squish it.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek comes over and slides the photo out of Stiles’ hands to set it back down.

Although his wolf is pleased with the fact his mate finds his younger-self _cute_ , Derek wants to move them to the bed.

He watches as his mate kicks off his shoes before flopping onto the bedsheets and sighing out.

Stiles closes his eyes and then arches his back off the bed, looking like _sin_ , and Derek suddenly feels too small in his own body.

“I-I’m going to get some water,” he says quickly, swallowing at the sight of Stiles stretching his neck and showing off his throat.

“Get me a glass too?”

“Sure.”

* * *

Stepping out of his room, Derek closes the door and takes a moment to catch his breath.

He wants to claim Stiles, he really does, wants to fulfil his wolffish needs and _finally_ claim his mate, but he also can’t pull himself out of the fact he’s going to hurt Stiles like his father would have.

He feels like a creep, a fucking _monster_ , when he stares at the teenager on his bed.

It plays out in his head so _damn_ easily.

It starts off fine, it starts with them kissing on the bed and he _knows_ Stiles would love it, would kiss back eagerly and Stiles only hadn't tried to kiss him for Derek's comfort.

It'd get heated quickly, Derek knows, his wolf urging him along until they are taking off their shirts and Derek will _finally_ be able to explore all of Stiles' pale skin, mark it up so prettily.

It's when Derek thinks about reaching for their pants that the fantasy goes wrong, Stiles isn't ready, tries to pull away, but Derek _can't_ stop, he's overcome with the _need_ to claim Stiles, and he pulls down their pants anyway.

Stiles would fight, Derek knows, would hit and bite and shout abuse at Derek, and it wouldn't matter because Derek's _stronger_ , and he can flip him over, press him down and just _take_.

 _Just like my father_ , Derek thinks in horror as he leans against the door and covers his mouth as he tries not to be sick as he imagines Stiles' scream ringing in his ears.

"Derek?"

Derek startles, flinching in surprise and his eyes flaring blue as he stares blankly at Chris, unable to gather himself enough to scowl or even glare at the man.

Chris stares at him in a startling amount of concern before his blue-eyes flickered over to Derek's shoulder and the tightly closed door.

"I take it Stiles is here," Chris states more than asks, and Derek nods mutely, his hand still covering his mouth, and Chris gives a sigh. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Derek doesn't want to, doesn't want to go anywhere with the man that hurt his mother so, but he doesn't want to stay here and drown in his thoughts, to hear Stiles' scream ring in his ears, so he nods shortly.

Chris takes them to Peter's study, gesturing Derek in before following behind and closing the door behind them.

Derek stands awkwardly in front of Peter's desk, taking in the new computer Peter set up and resisting the urge to pick up one of Peter's photo-frames and see which photos he deemed the most important.

Chris stands in front of the door for a moment, watching Derek before scrubbing a hand over his mouth and moving to take a seat on the two-seater couch Peter squeezed into his study.

"Did you know Peter was sixteen when we met?" Chris asks making Derek look at him in startled confusion. "Can you guess how old I was?"

Derek frowns as he shakes his head.

Chris huffs out something like a laugh, "I suppose Peter wouldn't really say anything about our relationship before all this, huh?"

Derek says nothing as he shifts awkwardly before leaning against the desk with his arms crossed defensively over his chest as he watches Chris.

"I was twenty," Chris reveals, and a gasp almost escapes from Derek's mouth. "I didn't know Peter was sixteen the first time I met him, _or_ even the first time we had sex."

 _"I **want** you,"_ Chris can still remember Peter saying as he nipped at Chris' neck, _"I have a hotel booked."_

There had been several reasons to say no, but Chris had been powerlessly under Peter's spell since that first look, and he accepted.

"In fact, I didn't know how old Peter really was for several weeks, and we had been having sex since the beginning," Chris continues as he looks down at his clasped hands. "When I found out, I was disgusted with myself. I had _slept_ with a minor, _repeatedly_ , and the worse thing? I still _wanted_ too, I wanted to keep having sex with him despite knowing how old he was."

Chris had thought Peter had been this worldly and experienced guy, how could he believe something otherwise when Peter seemed so confident when Peter seduced Chris so easily?

Those thoughts, the image of Peter that he built up in his mind, it had all been broken with when Chris finally discovered how old Peter was.

"I thought I was sick," Chris tells Derek, neglecting to add that he thought he was sicker than his father always told him he was. "Twisted, wrong. He was sixteen, and I wanted him so much despite knowing that. I should have turned myself in, I would have if Peter didn't stop me," he lets out a little laugh, "he shouted at me, called me a complete and total idiot, and bemoaned ever letting me find out before pushing me down and—"

Chris flushes and clears his throat awkwardly as he cuts himself off, glancing away from Derek.

“I’m not trying to tell you having sex with a minor is okay,” Chris states firstly, “That’s not what I’m trying to say, what I am saying is that you’re still young. And you’ve got so much trauma you could write a book about it. But what I am saying, is that _communication is key_.”

Chris comes closer, “I also know for a fact that Stiles is your mate.”

Derek freezes at that, his eyes widening as he stares at the man and takes a step back, feeling like a caged animal.

“Derek, it’s okay, I promise you. You’re _not_ going to hurt him,” Chris rests a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“But—what if I do! What if I can’t handle my wolf’s urge to—to _bite_ him?” Derek shakes a little.

“You need to talk to him. You can’t keep the fact that he’s your mate from him forever. Stiles is smart, too smart, and he’s going to figure it out,” Chris tells him truthfully. “How do you think he’s going to feel about the fact you were keeping this information from him?”

Derek shakes his head, something almost desperately stubborn in his expression, "I _can't_."

"Derek—"

"He heard what Peter said!" Derek snaps, words pouring out of him. "He _heard._ He'll stay with me no matter what! Even if I _hurt_ him! Even if I turn out just like _my father!_ Because he wouldn't want to be the cause of my death! Even if I deserved it! I'm going to turn out _just like_ my father! I'm going to _force_ him! I'm going to haunt him like _she_ haunts me, and _he_ haunts Mom! I can't! I can't!"

" _Derek!_ " Chris shakes the younger man slightly and cups Derek's jaw to make the teen look at him. "You are _nothing_ like your father, you _aren't_ going to hurt Stiles. And do you know how I know that for a fact?"

Derek stares at the man wide-eyed and shakes his head slightly.

"Because _you_ won’t let _yourself_ ," Chris says firmly as he stares straight into Derek's eyes, willing him to listen and _believe_. "Listen to yourself, you're working yourself into a panic just at the thought, and _nothing_ has happened. You have only been together for what? A day? You don't have to have sex right now, and frankly, I don't think either of you is ready. But you need to stop punishing yourself for things that haven't happened."

"Bu-but you and Mom were having sex from the beginning," Derek points out in confusion, and Chris takes a step back from Derek as he looks away with an uncomfortable cough.

"Peter and I, well, we met in a club so..." Chris trails off and shrugs with a flush before shaking his head. "Look, you need to communicate with Stiles, _really_ talk with him about things, and if you really don't want to break the news of him being your mate? Then well, try to take this relationship like a normal one. Communicate freely, take things slowly, and all that."

"A _normal_ relationship?" Derek questions as he looks down with a frown and Chris feels an icy shiver down his spine as he stares at Derek, hoping against hope that doesn't mean what he thinks it means.

“You know, one where it doesn’t end in— _mayhem_ ,” Chris does a little hand motion, unsure how to really describe it since his relationships haven’t been the best. “Just, something...give yourself something good for once.”

Derek turns his head away, he’s never actually given himself the chance to have something good in his life.

“I’ll try,” he replies, scratching at the scruff growing on his face.

Chris pats his shoulder, the both of them jumping when Peter walks into the room, raising an eyebrow at the both of them.

“I hope you two are being nice,” Peter smirks at them both, he had only come in here to grab a recipe from one of his books.

"Yeah," Chris nods, glances towards Derek. "We are."

Peter nods thoughtfully, eyeing them with almost suspiciously, before turning to Derek with an almost mischievous expression that makes Derek eye his mother suspiciously.

"I almost forgot!" Peter says brightly, it is a tone that neither of the other men trust. "I have a present for you! Something I went especially out for you."

"Maybe I should go?" Chris suggests, and Peter turns a wide beaming smile on him.

"It'll only take a moment," Peter says in that same bright tone as he moves other to where he had tucked the box under his desk and pulls it out, and holds it out to Derek.

"What is it?" Derek eyes the box suspiciously making Peter pout.

"It's to help you deal with your mating urges," Peter tells him, and Chris stifles a groan, he can see where this is going.

Derek, poor innocent Derek, obviously didn't as he takes the box with an almost hopeful look as he puts it on the desk and opens it, he immediately chokes and turns an alarming shade of red.

Chris buries his face into his hands, knowing without looking that his worst fears are being confirmed.

"Mom!" Derek makes a strangled sound, leaning away from the box like whatever is in it would attack him.

"I know you are dealing with instincts that you aren't ready for," Peter explains as he begins to empty the box, placing each item on the desk and in the suddenly stark light of Peter's office. "I wasn't sure which way you are inclined if you would enjoy being a bottom like me or you would want to top, so I got a selection of toys for you to experiment with."

" _Peter_ ," Chris groans as he sits on the couch and reburies his face into his hands, but his mate blithely ignores him.

"I doubt you've ever tried bottoming, so I got a selection of sizes for you to work with," Peter continues to explain. "The biggest I've got is seven inches, they are _very_ durable and can cope with werewolf strength."

“ **Mom!** ” Derek’s voice goes a pitch higher as he shoves everything back into the box, his face growing a new shade of red.

“What? You’re a young man, I remember when I was your age and all I wanted was sex at the time,” Peter puts a hand on his chin as his head tilts a little to the side, “Well, also at the time I was still locked inside of Eichen House so I had to use my fingers when I could. It was not fun, let me tell you.”

“Thank you, for the gifts and the horrible embarrassment,” Derek slams the box closed and locks it as well.

“Your welcome, Pup,” Peter cups his sons face, having to get on his tippy toes a bit to press a kiss to his son's forehead. “You’re too tall.”

Derek snorts, “Maybe you shouldn’t be so short.”

“I’m like four inches shorter than you, shut up,” Peter scoffs, nosing at his son’s throat so he can scent mark him. “Now remember, it’s okay to enjoy things like sex and relationships. Just make sure you talk it out with Stiles and are comfortable.”

"Can we _please_ stop talking about this?" Derek asks in a pleading tone, giving the box a wary look.

"But I haven't even told you about the flesh-lights!" Peter protests making Derek take on another hue of red. "Specially made for knotting in mind!"

"Stiles must be wanting his water now!" Derek reluctantly scoops up the box and heads towards the door.

"There are two different boxes of condoms in there! One for Stiles and one for you! Yours will let you knot safely!" Peter calls after him making Derek almost stumble. "And the lube will not make you gag if either of you wants to use your mouth as well as your fingers to open each other up!"

Derek slams the door behind him, and Peter erupts in laughter as Chris keeps his face buried in his hands.

"You are a _terrible_ person," Chris informs him while not looking up, and Peter calms to just a chuckle.

"I'm a _mother_ ," Peter reminds him as he moves over to stroke Chris' hair. "I need to make sure my baby boy is being safe....while embarrassing him as much as possible."

"Well, you've definitely done _that_ ," Chris says as he raises his head.

“I did, didn’t I?” Peter asks smugly, almost preening in a mixture of delight and pride, and Chris shakes his head with a reluctantly fond smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you’re the Alpha, you’re going to embarrass all of your kids in front of their crushes,” Chris shakes his head.

“Oh and I certainly plan to! I’ve got _years_ of catching up on embarrassing them,” Peter smirks.

* * *

Derek grabs a bottle of water from the kitchen before speed walking back into the bedroom.

He pauses momentarily to take in the sight of Stiles curled up on their bed, a pillow under his arm as he scrolls on his phone.

The teenager glances up and smiles at Derek, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Just...my mom trying to embarrass me,” Derek shrugs, putting the box in the floor and kicking it under the bed, hoping Stiles doesn’t try to ask about it.

“Isn’t he _always_ trying to tease someone?” Stiles answers.

"It seems like it," Derek almost grumbles as he holds out the bottle of water.

Stiles sits up to grab it and unscrews the top, sipping at it and watching Derek almost curiously.

"What?" Derek asks almost warily as he sits against the pillows.

"What's in the box?" Stiles asks curiously, and Derek flushes deeply, ducking his head, and Stiles just radiates curiosity after that. "Now I really want to know."

"Just some stuff Mom gave me," Derek tries to choke out, his throat feeling very dry and tight as he stares at his hands.

"What 'stuff' makes someone blush that brightly?" Stiles says before it seems to click, and he flushes deeper than Derek. " _Oh._ "

There's an embarrassed and awkward silence between the two as they look at everything that isn't each other.

Derek shifts awkwardly, wishing he had thought to stash the box somewhere else, but it would have been worse if Allison or Stiles came across it and opened it without any warning.

Derek flushes deeper as he remembers the collection of dildos Peter showed off, all the way up seven inches, and then he flushes even deeper as he remembers Stiles' mentioning Jackson wondering if Stiles' is seven or seven and a half inches or _even more._

There's a strange swooping in his stomach, a strange warming that makes him feel almost feverish, and he can feel himself hardening in his boxers as for some reason he feels himself clench down.

It's weird and odd, and he can't stop from looking towards Stiles' crotch and wondering if the dildo _really is_ the same size.

His mind shies away from the image of being him taking it even though his body seems to get warmer at the thought.

He couldn't, he _really_ couldn't.

He's not gay, he's _not_ , but the image stands in his head, makings his skin feel feverish and tight, makes him want to see Stiles' cock, hard and leaking because of _him_ , and he clenches down in a way that's still so odd and weird, that shouldn't feel good because he's not _gay_.

 _Stiles is my mate, I’m going to want to do things with him I’d never want to do with other people_ , Derek thinks to himself, trying to rationalize the way he’s feeling at the moment.

“Derek?”

Looking up, Derek stares at Stiles’ face, getting lost on the fact his mate is so _beautiful._

“Yeah...”

Stiles fidgets with the bottom of his shirt, smiling shyly as he looks back up, “Uh, would it be weird if I asked you to kiss me?”

“No,” Derek says quickly, moving over the bed and crawling over Stiles’ body so he can look down at his mate. “Because I also really want to kiss you.”

“Really?” Stiles shifts up a little, his cheeks turning red as Derek rests an arm over his head to keep himself up.

“Really,” Derek answers, leaning down to press a kiss to Stiles’ lips, soft and slow, taking in the feeling of Stiles’ lips against his own.

Derek had been afraid to kiss Stiles, had been afraid that he would want to push for more before either of them were ready, but it's easy, easy to kiss Stiles and just enjoy it.

Derek relaxes, the tension and mild fear easing from him as Stiles tangles one hand in Derek's hair while the other strokes down his back and settling on the small of Derek's back as they kiss.

Still, Derek keeps himself raised above Stiles, doesn't let his lower half even brush against Stiles' as he didn't want to tempt himself, and leans most of his weight on one arm planted above Stiles' head while the other cups Stiles' chin.

Derek kisses Stiles and keeping it closed mouth for a while, enjoying the feel of Stiles' lips on his, and having Stiles' hand tangled in his hair.

Then a hesitant tongue brushes against his lips and Derek almost groans as he opens to his mouth to Stiles, and their kiss deepens as they introduce tongues into it.

They break apart when air becomes too pressing to ignore, panting like they had been running a marathon, and Derek can't help himself from pressing kisses all over Stiles' face.

 _I can have this, I can do this_ , Derek thinks as Stiles tugs him back by the hair into another kiss, his chest warming and his head almost swimming with relief.

Derek's not a total monster, he isn't pushing Stiles down and trying to get _more_ now, and he can kiss his mate without worry.

“Dude—“ Stiles breathes, pulling back from the kiss to smile lazily up at Derek’s face.

“You just had my tongue in your mouth, don’t call me dude,” Derek grunts, giving Stiles a hard look.

“Oops. Sorry, I’m kinda high off of the serotonin flooding into my head from kissing you,” Stiles stretches his arms a bit, before looping them lazily around Derek’s neck. “Your lips are really soft.”

Huffing and shaking his head a little bit, Derek leans down to press a kiss to Stiles’ collarbone before turning to settle down next to him on the bed.

“Aww, but I wanted to kiss some more,” Stiles pouts, turning on his side to pet Derek’s chin. “Are you planning on growing your facial hair out?”

Derek tenses a little at that, “Do you not like it when it’s hairy? I can shave it if it’s better.”

He starts to get up, ready to go to the bathroom right now and shave, but then Stiles is pulling him back down.

“Whoa, there cowboy. I never said I didn’t like it, also you shouldn’t have to shave it whether or not I like it. It’s your body, if you want to get as hairy as Bigfoot, I’d be happy for you,” Stiles tells him, resting his cheek on Derek’s shoulder. “Do you like having a beard?”

Derek furrows his eyebrows together as he wraps an arm around Stiles' waist, pulling him close and tries to figure out the meaning of the question.

Because it has to be a trick, right?

No one's ever cared what _Derek_ liked when it came to his looks, it's what they liked, and Derek adjusted himself accordingly.

When he was young, _she_ had liked his muscles and Derek did his best to work-out and built them up, and he kept doing that because others liked it, liked looking at him and would be more willing to help him and Laura with things if Derek has nice muscles for them to look at or touch.

 _She_ and others seemed to prefer to look at Derek, not talk to him, so Derek kept his mouth shut and stopped offering opinions. It was easier to go along with what they wanted, and it helped with Laura during those earlier weeks after the fire.

Laura didn't like him getting scruff, she found the growing hair prickly and didn't allow him to scent mark her with his cheek whenever there was a hint of hair on his face, so Derek shaved his face twice a day so she wouldn't have to feel it when he hugged her.

Derek got more tips at the bar that hired him with his forged ID with his chest shaved to show off all the muscles and wearing tight clothing, so Derek kept working-out, shaved his chest every day, and bought clothing that in Stiles' words were _"two-sizes too small"._

Stiles mentioned that he thought his chest should be furry, so Derek's stopped the daily shaving, so why couldn't he say the same thing about his face?

“I...I guess?”

“There’s a question mark in that statement,” Stiles points out, knowing he shouldn’t try to drag this out but also feeling like Derek needs to know this. “Derek, it’s your body, you can have it look any way you want it to. You know that right? I like you either way, hairy, shaved, big, small. Dude, you look great even without eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows?” Derek brings a hand up to touch his eyebrows. “You mean when I shift?”

Nodding his head, Stiles leans in a little closer, “I don’t know if it’s just a me thing—which let’s be honest, it probably is. But I like your shifted face as much as your regular face.”

It’s a lie. It _has_ to be a lie.

Derek looks _horrifying_ when he’s shifted, a _monster_ or something that crawled out of the depths of hell.

Stiles’ heartbeat doesn’t skip but Derek doesn’t believe it.

Flipping over so he’s over Stiles’ body again, Derek lets the shift take over his face in an instance, baring his massive canines at the teenager and flashing blue eyes, his sideburns getting thicker and hairier while his face shifts and the bones harden.

“You find _this_ attractive? Don’t lie to me,” Derek growls, words slurring a little because of his fangs.

Stiles stares at him, quiet and still and Derek is ready to accept the fact that Stiles doesn’t find him attractive like this.

_Nobody does._

He looks disgusting.

 _Don’t shift, sweetie, you look like a B rated horror monsters. Like your mom let a dog fuck her_ , he can hear her bitter words against his ears again, and it feels like knives dragging down his chest.

Then Stiles is raising his hand, threading his fingers through Derek's sideburns, and then he's leaning upon his other elbow, so he can press a kiss at Derek's jaw, then his cheek, then his broadened nose and his pronounced brow.

"I find _you_ attractive," Stiles tells him, his heartbeat steady and unwavering, and then carefully he presses a kiss to Derek's mouth. "No matter what you look like, I like _you_."

Derek almost whimpers as the shift melts away, and he's kissing Stiles again, almost desperately, and Stiles kisses back, no trance of fear ever appearing in his scent.

 _He didn't lie_ , Derek thinks with disbelief, _he didn't lie to me._

He didn't know what to think, what to feel apart from disbelief, and he kisses Stiles' like he's been starving for his touch for years and Stiles kisses him _back_ with almost the same intensity, one hand tangling in Derek's hair as Stiles arches up against him.

Derek presses down, fitting in between Stiles' spread legs, and he groans into the kiss as he feels Stiles' hardening cock through his jeans and Stiles' sweatpants.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles gasps against his lips, pulling back to pant, and Derek wants _more_ , so he kisses and nips down Stiles' neck making the younger teen groan. " _Derek!_ "

Derek shudders with a moan at the way his mate says his name, and he sucks on Stiles' neck as his mate bares his throat for him.

He wants to rock against Stiles, press down and rub his hardening cock against Stiles', and it's that desire, that thought, that breaks through his haze and he rips himself away with a ragged gasp as he rolls to the side and stares up at his ceiling as he pants.

"Too fast?" Stiles asks through pants, his voice rough in a way that goes straight to Derek's cock and Derek shudders as he throws an arm over his eyes. "Yeah, too fast."

Stiles stays quiet next to him, and the prickling of fear and worry start to bite at the back of Derek’s mind.

Stiles isn’t talking to him, isn’t touching him anymore. There’s a clear inch of _space_ between the both of them and it makes Derek’s anxiety roar inside of his head.

He hears Stiles shift next to him, “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Not trusting his own voice, Derek nods his head swallowing when he feels Stiles wrap an arm around his chest.

“Hey, I’m not angry or upset. If we were going too fast that’s okay, I’m A-okay with slowing down the roll and chilling. We can keep the heavy make outs to few or none if that makes you feel good,” Stiles draws circles into Derek’s shirt.

Opening his mouth to speak, Derek pauses and then closes it with a click.

He can’t think, words seem to vanish from his mind the moment he tries to form them.

 _Stop being such a pussy,_ he growls at himself, _this is Stiles. Your mate. He would never hurt or laugh at you. **God** , why do I have to be so fucked up!_

“Do you want some water?” Stiles asks in that gentle tone that has Derek wanting to curl up in his arms and beg for affection.

“Sure,” he clears his throat, so he doesn’t sound rough and ruined.

“Okay,” Stiles presses a kiss to his cheek before getting up to retrieve the water bottle on Derek’s desk.

Turning his head Derek watches as Stiles moves around the room with such ease, and desperately wishes at this moment he could move, but he’s frozen to the spot he’s lying on and _hates_ it.

Stiles comes over and waits for a moment, but Derek can't bring himself to move, he just stares numbly and frozen up at Stiles.

Stiles holds out a hand, and Derek lifts one heavy arm to grab Stiles' hand and it's easier to move when Stiles tugs him up into a sitting position before holding out the water bottle for Derek to take.

Derek takes a big gulp, needing it as his throat feels so dry, and Stiles sits next to him, waiting patiently.

Derek feels useless as he screws the lid back on and he reaches across to put the bottle on the bedside table, and then he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Can I touch you?" Stiles asks, and Derek nods, feeling so damn useless and stupid.

Stiles reaches out and takes Derek's hand, linking their fingers together as he shifts to sit crossed leg on the bed, and his thumb strokes the back of Derek's hand soothingly.

"You okay?" Stiles asks after a moment, watching Derek's face, and Derek nods again, his throat tight and his tongue thick in his mouth. "Do you want to talk? Because something is bothering you, so do you want to talk about it now? Or do you want to cuddle for a bit and then talk about it? Or do you want to cuddle and talk about it? Was it something I did? Did I push you too far?"

Stiles scrubs one hand over his hair, scent filling with worry, and Stiles grimaces as he realises he really needs to buzz down his hair unless he decides to grow it out.

He doesn't know if he should ask Derek his opinion or not, considering how uncertain Derek was with _his_ looks.

Clearing his throat, Derek looks down at the water bottle in his hands before looking back up.

“Can—can we cuddle? I—“ he closes his mouth and then looks back down at his hands.

Watching as the older man fights with himself, Stiles takes pity on him and doesn’t push for more.

Gently, he pushes Derek back down on the bed.

The man stays frozen while Stiles shifts some of the blankets and pillows around to make everything more comfortable.

When he’s finished, Stiles grabs Derek’s arms to pull them up so he can worm his way between the wall and his boyfriend, sighing with content as he curls an arm around Derek, and hums at the warmth radiating off the werewolf.

He’s almost tempted to make a joke, _almost_ being the keyword. He doesn’t want to snap Derek out of his thoughts.

So he relaxes and waits, either for Derek to speak or for Peter to call them for dinner.

Derek relaxes slowly as he tightens his grip around Stiles, pulling him close, and Stiles doesn't push for words or for him to talk or anything like that.

Stiles just hugs him back, nuzzling against him almost idly, and Derek feels the tight feeling in his chest and throat ease as they just lay there.

 _"Communication is the key,"_ Chris' voice rings through his head, and Derek licks his lips as he tries to gather his thoughts.

He doesn't know what words to say, how to sort out his thoughts into words, and he had no idea how to voice the mixed ball of feelings he's got brewing in him.

"I-I don't know what I'm doing," Derek finally admits, the words almost squeezing out of his tight throat.

Stiles shifts against him but doesn't say anything, and Derek's grateful because it's hard enough trying to figure out what to say without worrying about what Stiles' is going to say.

"I-I don't know how relationships are meant to work," Derek continues in a frustrated tone.

His relationship with Paige had been short, sweet and innocent, and it ended with her dying in his arms.

And then his thing with _her_ wasn't a real relationship, and he doesn't want his and Stiles' relationship to be anything like it.

 _Okay, that’s good. We’re getting somewhere_ , Stiles thinks to himself, stroking his thumb against Derek’s jawline.

“That’s fine. I’m not exactly the king of relationships either, so this is new territory for the both of us,” Stiles tells him.

“No. It’s not about my lack of relationships, it’s that—it’s that they always end up with someone dead.”

Stiles lifts his head at that.

“My first girlfriend, her name was Paige, I was twelve and she was almost sixteen. Um, I was smart enough to skip a couple of grades in middle school, so while everyone my age was in middle school, I was starting high school. We started dating a few months into school and I thought everything was great.

Until I killed her.”

Stiles feels his chest seize up at that, opening his mouth to ask a million questions, he stops and keeps it closed so Derek can finish.

“Peter didn’t like Paige, I don’t think he liked the fact I was still super young, but all my peers acted like I was their ages. But I was still a baby, at least to Peter I was, I thought it was cool dating someone in high school,” Derek turns his head away, trying to shuffle through all the memories. “Some stuff happened, and she got bitten by an Alpha passing through the territory, we were supposed to be meeting one another that night. And she was dying. She told me—she told me to put her out of her misery.”

Derek shifts them until he's flat on his back and he can stare up at the ceiling as he talks, Stiles' shifting on his side and pressing against Derek's side.

He doesn't know why Stiles is still touching him, still keeping close to him, when Derek just admitted to killing his first girlfriend.

"And I did, I killed her," Derek continues flatly, remembering the crack of Paige's bones as Derek snapped her neck and giving her a quick and clean death. "It was my fault, but I blamed Peter."

He blamed his mom, he had been convinced that it was because of Peter that Paige was Bitten and she died.

Talia had encouraged that idea, Derek realises she must have loved causing Peter pain by having Derek blaming him.

"It wasn't your fault."

It takes Derek a moment for him to realise that Stiles had spoken, it takes him another to realise what Stiles said, and then Derek looks to where Stiles is propped half on top of his chest and staring down at him with caring yet firm brown-amber eyes.

"What?" Derek questions, his chest tightening and warming. "I killed her, didn't you hear what I just said?"

"I heard that a thirteen-year-old boy was put in a position he shouldn't have been in," Stiles tells him firmly. "I heard that she was dying, that she was in pain, and you ended it for her. I heard that some Alpha Bit her and then left her to either turn or die. That's what I heard, it wasn't your fault Derek. She was dying, and you helped her."

Derek shakes his head, disbelief thrumming through him and mixing with the guilt he had carried since the moment Paige began to cough up black bile and stare at him in horror.

“Stiles, you—I’m a murderer! I killed her!” Derek pulls himself up from where he’s lying on the bed. “I’m a killer. That’s what these eyes stand for, I killed an innocent person, so my eyes turned blue.”

“Derek—“

“She was dying in my arms, I should have tried harder to bring her to a hospital. Or—or to my mom! She would have known what to do but I was so _stupid!_ ” Derek shouts the last words.

“You were t _hirteen_ , Derek. You didn’t know what the fuck you were doing, so don’t try and label yourself as a murderer. You were a _child_.”

“No! I knew what I was doing, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating her. But I was being a fucking baby about it, like she said I was.”

Stiles freezes momentarily at that, because _she_ is starting to sound a lot different than the picture Derek painted of Paige.

“Derek...who told you, you were acting like a child?” he asks gently.

“K-Kate. She said if I was grown-up enough to date a high schooler, then I should start acting like an adult.”

Stiles takes a deep breath as he sits up, trying to force down the anger rising in him at the mention of Kate's name.

Anger wouldn't be a good thing, it would make Derek defensive because he would think Stiles is mad at him when Stiles is enraged by the mention of the child rapist that is Kate Argent.

"Derek," Stiles begins in what he hopes is a calm voice. "Whatever Kate _ever_ told you, is nothing but lies because she is an evil fucking psycho that rapes young boys.

You were a _child_ , only twelve, and you were in a terrible position, and it's only normal that you panicked, that you didn't know what to do.

It's easy to look back and see what you should have done with hindsight, but it does nothing but hurt you."

"But—" Derek starts to argue, and Stiles takes his hands, stroking the back of Derek's hands with his thumbs, and Derek falls silent as he watches Stiles.

"You were twelve, surrounded by older kids, and you wanted to be accepted, wanted to prove yourself as mature as them," Stiles says as Derek's face blanks. "You met a girl, your first crush probably, and you went out with her despite how much older than you, and it was probably nice, wasn't it? It wasn't your fault that she was Bitten, it wasn't your fault that her body rejected it, and it wasn't your fault that the only way to help her was by helping her die.

You saved her from further pain, you saved her from a lingering and painful death, and it wasn't your fault that it happened, and anyone that says otherwise is a liar, is a cruel and horrible person and you should never _ever_ listen to them."

Derek’s eyebrows scrunch together, hating the way Stiles is talking to him.

He wants to believe Stiles’ words, but his mate would never understand something like this. And before Derek can hold himself back on this he ends up spitting out the phrase.

“Don’t try and apologize for my actions. You would never understand what I felt when I _killed_ her, she was dying in my arms!” he snaps, immediately feeling horrible when he sees the look of shock on Stiles’ face.

The expression quickly wiped away and something dark and tormented.

“You’re right, I won’t understand what it’s like for someone you love and cherish to be slowly dying in front of you. I would _never_ understand what it’s like to not be able to do anything, feeling completely powerless as the person you love dies,” Stiles steps closer to Derek, radiating with so much anger. “It’s not like my mom slowly wilted away before my eyes, not like I spent days, weeks, _months_ in her hospital room as she forgot who I was. She forgot I was her son, she called me a monster! I was only an eleven-year-old child, but my mom told me I was the reason she was dying, she told me I was _killing her_.”

Stiles steps back, wiping away the tears on his cheeks harshly, “But you’re right, I would never understand what you felt in that moment.”

Derek opens his mouth to speak, but Stiles is storming out of the room already.

“Stiles—“

“I’m going to go talk with Allison, we’ve got homework to finish. And I’m sure you have something better to do than hang out with some _kid_ ,” Stiles doesn’t even turn around to look at him as he gets to the door.

" _Please_ ," Derek says in a panicked and strangled tone, surging forward and holding himself back from grabbing Stiles.

Stiles can't leave, he _can't!_

Derek has this horrible feeling that if he lets Stiles leave, if he lets this fester, then what's between them will be broken.

Derek can't allow that, he _can't_ , not when it's his mate.

Stiles stops at the door, one hand wrapped around the doorknob and his back is tensed.

"I-I didn't mean it," Derek says, hands open and closing by his sides uselessly, wanting to reach out for his mate, but not trusting himself at this moment.

"Yes, yes you did," Stiles says without looking over his shoulder at Derek, his gaze fixed on the door.

"Stiles," Derek fumbles slightly, "I-I didn't know."

Stiles tilts his head slightly to the side, " _That_ I actually believe."

"I wanted to believe you," Derek confesses in a strangled tone. "I wanted to believe what you said about it not being my fault."

"So, you lashed out because you _can't_ let yourself believe it," Stiles concludes, and Derek chances taking a step closer.

"Please," Derek begs shamelessly, willing to fall to his knees if he thought that would help. "Please don't leave, don't leave—"

 _Me_ , Derek finishes in his head, his voice gone and his throat tightening as panic rises in his chest.

Stiles breathes through his nose, shoulders dropping as he hears the desperation in Derek’s voice, turning around he gives the older man a hard look.

“Listen, I understand you’ve been through Hell and back. I know you have trauma that possibly no one can match, but you have to understand that you’re not the only one with issues.” Stiles tells him openly, “Lashing out because I’m trying to help you is not the way to go, Derek. I don’t—this is new to the both of us and I understand that, but you have to let me throw in my thoughts and words. Relationships are a two-way street, big guy.”

“I’m sorry,” his head falls down a little, shoulders boxing in as he wants nothing more than to curl up in a dark hole now.

Derek startles a little when Stiles cups his face and brings it up so they’re staring at one another.

“Hey, look at me. I really like you, and I want to keep what we have up. But if you don’t talk to me about what’s bothering you, I can’t help,” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s forehead, “And I need you to know something.”

“Yes?”

“Your past relationships were shitty, and I’m sorry that happened and you had to go through all of that. But this? What we have? This is something entirely new to the both of us, so just because Paige or _Kate_ said you should do something doesn’t mean I’m going to agree with that.”

Stiles moves his hand down to stroke Derek’s cheek, “You wanna get hairy? Go ahead. You don’t want to talk and just cuddle? Go ahead. Not ready to make out? That’s fine with me, I’ll be honest, as much as I complain about being a virgin, I’m not ready to have sex either.”

Something unclenches in Derek's chest at that admission.

Derek didn't even realise he was so worried about disappointing Stiles with not being ready until it disappeared with Stiles' words.

"I want to make out with you," Derek admits after a moment, nuzzling into Stiles' hand as he holds it to his face. "I just, I just don't trust myself to."

"Okay, then we can spread them out or work up to them, or we can stop making out in your room," Stiles suggests easily, accepting, and Derek's breathing hitches with relief.

"Away from the bed," Derek agrees, he thinks he may be able to control himself away from the temptation. "And...and maybe not that often to start with?"

"That's fine with me," Stiles agrees in that same easy and accepting tone that warms Derek's chest, causes relief to shudder out of him. "Anything else?"

Derek's throat tightens some at the question and he doesn't know what to say, there's a thread of panic in his chest as he stares at Stiles.

"Or we could cuddle until dinner is ready," Stiles says as he takes in the slowly blanking face of Derek, and relief almost floods Derek's face as his shoulders slump with such relief that it makes Stiles hurt. "We can shelf this for another time, okay? But we are coming back to it, alright?"

Derek nods in quick agreement, quietly terrified that Stiles will change his mind and leave anyway, and Stiles tugs him back to the bed.

Derek keeps watching Stiles as if he's convinced that if he looks away or blinks or something then Stiles will disappear, and it hurts something in Stiles' chest.

Stiles can't believe he once thought Derek was a big tough and just angry guy when it is nothing close to the truth.

Yeah, Derek was angry, but he had also been grieving and that wasn't something Stiles knew at the beginning, and it was something Scott refuses to take in account.

But he's also lacking in self-esteem, unsure how to be what people call normal, and he's got a boatload of trauma and issues to deal with.

Derek lets Stiles push him around until he’s laying his head on the teenager’s chest.

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair and the older man goes limp against him, feeling utterly at peace in this moment, and then Chris’s earlier conversation with him comes back to haunt him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Derek admits before he can hold himself back.

Stiles lifts his head up to stare down at him and then let’s it settle back down on the pillows.

“What’s on your mind, Sourwolf?”

Derek grumbles at the nickname, but secretly—and he will never tell Stiles this—he likes the nickname.

“I—this might be hard to believe, and a little crazy but...we’re. I’m—“ he swallows and grips Stiles’ body a little tighter. “We’re mates.”

Stiles feels his jaw drop a little at that.

“Wait— _for real!?_ ”

Derek scrunches his eyebrows together, sitting up a little to stare down at the shocked look on Stiles’ face, “Yes? Why would I lie about that?”

Stiles flails his hand a little, trying to gather his thought to put into words the impossibility of Stiles being Derek's mate.

He means that it's not like Stiles is much of a prize, he knows that, and Derek deserves so much _more_ than Stiles can give him.

But then he once considered a relationship _at all_ with Derek an impossibility.

"I'm not saying you are lying," Stiles tells him, still trying to figure out his feels and thoughts. "I just, I just didn't even consider the possibility that we could be mates, and it feels like you deserve better than me."

Derek scowls at Stiles, "There's no one better, I want _you_."

"It's a me issue," Stiles tells him as he reaches up to stroke Derek's cheek soothingly. "But I believe you when you say we're mates, and I believe that you want me, just got to get my head around it, you know?"

Derek scowls slightly that his mate would think so lowly of himself, and then he settles down with a grumble. Stiles' hand immediately goes back to running through his hair, and Derek relaxes against him as Stiles stares up at the ceiling and thinks.

"Does this mean you want to give me the Mating Bite?" Stiles asks curiously after a long moment, and Derek stills against him. "Derek?"

Salvia seems to flood Derek's mouth as his teeth ache, and he can almost feel his fangs threatening to drop as he swallows heavily.

"Yes," Derek says roughly, resisting the urge to lift his head from Stiles' chest.

If he does, Derek fears his gaze will go straight to Stiles' neck and he'll not be able to resist the temptation.

“That’s cool,” Stiles smiles to no one in particular. “We don’t have to do the bite now obviously. I don’t think I’m ready for that, and you probably aren’t either.”

“You don’t want the bite?” Derek feels his heart drop a little at that.

“No! I mean yes! Yes, I want the Mating Bite, but, dude—I’m still in high school and this sounds a lot like marriage to me. Maybe we could wait until I’m like graduated or eighteen?”

“Of course,” Derek takes Stiles’ hand in his own, “You know I would never force anything like this on you. I just—it’ll be hard for me and my wolf not to want to...you know...”

“Take a bite out of this snack?” Stiles smirks.

Derek gives Stiles a raised eyebrow.

“Do not try and argue, I am a _snack_. I am delightful. And the best thing to ever happen to you,” Stiles crosses his arms.

“Yeah, you are,” Leaning down, Derek presses a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips.

“Mmmh, wait, one more kiss please?”

“Well, I’m glad to see you too are doing well.”

“Gah!” Stiles fumbles around in the bed and falls off the side, “PETER! What the fuck dude, we were having a moment!”

“And I finished making the soup. What’s more important food or your love interest?”

Derek thumps his head against the pillow as Stiles sits up with a groan as he clutches at his head.

"You know that's an impossible choice," Stiles groans. "Choosing between your cooking and Derek? Why do you have to be so cruel and make me choose?"

Derek snorts, not sure if he should be insulted or not that Stiles didn't know if he would pick him over Peter's cooking.

"You make my heart all aflutter," Peter pretends to bat his eyes at Stiles before smirking. "Now, dinner."

Derek rolls of his bed, being careful of Stiles, and holds out his hand for Stiles to grab before pulling his boyfriend up to his feet.

"Great, I'm starving," Stiles brushes off his sweatpants, trying to ignore the fact he had tumbled off the bed. "What are we having with the soup?"

"Bread rolls," Peter says as he turns to lead the two teens to the kitchen.

"A classic," Stiles nods as he rubs his hands, he can't wait to taste Peter's soup.

Stiles is about to follow Peter out of the room when Derek pulls him back into his arms, the werewolf rumbles softly as he nuzzled against Stiles’ throat.

“You good big guy?” The teenager find and pats Derek’s face.

“I’m good. I’m just really happy,” The werewolf admit, turning to press a kiss to Stiles’ neck before letting him go.

Peter gives them both a sideways glance, and hides a soft smile on his face as he sees the joy of Derek’s face.

* * *

When they get to the table, Allison is already seated and cooling off a spoonful of the soup.

“Stiles? I didn’t know you were here?” Allison puts the spoon down, “I thought you were staying at your house.”

"Dad's working overnight," Stiles says as he takes his chair with Derek next to him, dragging the bowl closer to smell with an appreciative sniff. "He thought it would be safer and better for me to stay here."

"Guess you can help me with my homework then," Allison teases before picking up her spoon and scooping up some of her soup.

"I see how it is," Stiles says in a faked betrayed look. "You only want me for my homework help."

"Oh no," Allison gives a pretend gasp as Chris places down the plate piled with bread rolls. "You figured it out!"

"I'm not just a pretty face," Stiles informs her as he points at her with his spoon, and Derek snorts as Allison giggles.

Chris takes his chair with a smile, glad to see Allison so happy despite what happened, and Peter sits next to him after a small squeeze to his shoulder.

Derek reaches out for one of the rolls as Allison and Stiles banters, and Chris watches with a soft expression.

This is how things should have been, Chris can't help but think to himself.

Allison and Derek should have grown up as siblings, hell, perhaps they could have brought up Jackson and Malia too.

 _We would have been happy_ , Chris thinks to himself, something bittersweet at the fantasy that could have been true if Chris hadn't been such a coward.

"Your soup is going to get cold," Peter says as he nudges Chris, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Sorry," Chris flashes Peter a small smile, grabbing Peter's hand and pressing a kiss to the other man's knuckles. "Lost in thought."

"About me, I hope," Peter teases with a smile though something of concern lingers around his eyes.

"Always," Chris tells him as he presses another kiss to Peter's knuckles.

Derek rolls his eyes at the two of them, which gets a giggle from Allison as she breaks off a piece of her roll to dip into the soup.

“Damn, this shit is good,” Stiles moans when he takes the first mouthful of the soup. “I’m in Heaven. Best thing I’ve had in my mouth today.”

Derek turns to give Stiles a raised eyebrow:

“ _Second_ best thing I’ve had in my mouth today.” Stiles corrects.

Allison stares at the both of them from across the table, and then says, “Was the first best thing Derek’s dick?”

“Allison!” Chris’s face takes on an expression horror as he stares at his daughter.

“Actually, it was his tongue.”

Allison pouts slightly, "At least let me hold on to my fantasy for a moment longer before you destroy it."

"Allison!" Chris actually flushes as he chides his daughter.

"We're not ready for a sexual relationship," Stiles informs Allison as Derek ducks his head and focuses his attention on his soup as his ears turn red.

"At least you have come to that decision together," Peter says in approval before an expression crosses his face that make Derek duck his head further down, Chris groan and Stiles watch him suspiciously. "Though if you need anything to work off the frustration, I have just gifted Derek with several things that will help with that."

 _"Mom!"_ Derek's spoon clatters into his bowl, Chris groans as he buries his face in his hands, Stiles' face flushes red and Allison erupts into giggles as she guesses what Peter could gifted Derek.

" _Oh my god_ ," Stiles wheezes, hitting his chest as he's pretty sure some air went down the wrong way somehow.

“Stop it,” Chris pleads, covering his face with his hand as he shakes his head.

“Make me,” Peter bites out, leaning back in his chair as he continues with his dinner.

“Ew. I really don’t want to hear about my dad’s sex life.”

“Me neither,” Derek adds on, still feeling like his cheeks are on fire.

Stiles shrugs from where he’s sitting, “Aw, there’s nothing bad with some old men still being in love.”

“ _Old!_ Excuse you! I am not old,” Peter scoffs, “I’m not ancient like silver beard over here.”

“I’m not that old either!” Chris defends.

Stiles smirks at how he redirected the conversation, watching both of the older men bicker back and forth with one another.

He looks at Derek, who’s still covering his face, and refusing to come out of his shell like a little turtle.

“You’re adorable,” Stiles kisses Derek’s cheek, smiling at how red his boyfriend’s ears are.

"I am _not_ ," Derek grumbles as he peeks up to glance at where his mom is bickering with Chris before glaring sulkily at Stiles.

"You _are_ ," Stiles argues back with a grin. "You are an adorable teddy bear."

Derek growls a little which only makes Stiles' grin widen.

"Come on, Der-bear," Stiles teases as he points at Derek's soup with his spoon. "Your soup is going to get cold."

Derek grumbles as he turns back to his soup, Stiles still grinning as he eats—err, drinks?—his soup and dips some bread into it.

"Oh, Stiles," Peter breaks away from his bickering with Chris to look over at Stiles. "Your phone arrived with the others today, I can help you set it up."

"Peter already set mine up for me," Allison says as she pulls out her pink iPhone from her pocket and wags it at Stiles. "It's so pretty," she looks at it before putting it on the table beside her, "I think I will get a phone charm or something."

"Sounds nice," Stiles nods in approval. "I suppose a trip to the mall is in our future."

"With Jackson and Lydia?" Allison asks and Stiles nods.

"Sure," Stiles says while Derek scowls at the mention of Jackson before Stiles snaps his fingers and looks at Derek. "Oh, I forgot to mention. Jackson wants to take the Bite."

Peter sits up straighter at that, his eyes glowing just the faintest hint of red at the knowledge of bringing more wolves to his Pack.

Blinking the red away, Peter clear his throat as he takes a moment to process what Stiles said.

“Is he aware of what’ll happen when he joins the Pack? This isn’t like a wash off tattoo, once it’s done it cannot be taken back.”

Nodding his head, Stiles says, “I told him everything he should know, and he’s thought long and hard about taking the bite.”

“Good...” Peter sits back a little, trying not to show the excitement on his face of having another Beta.

And not just another Beta, but _his son_ , his youngest son.

Both of his sons would be in his Pack, would be his Betas, and all he needs to do now is find his daughter.

Malia had to be out there somewhere, she had to be still alive.

Peter didn't know how he would cope if he confirmed she was dead, that his poor daughter had died, and he had never been able to hold her even once.

"I should do it Friday," Peter decides as he idly stirs his spoon through his soup. "It'll give us the weekend to teach him to control his senses."

Of course, it's not an ideal time considering the appointment Peter and Derek have earlier in the day, but it would be the best time to do it anyway.

Peter doesn't believe Jackson will reject the Bite, it's in his blood to be a wolf after all, and the Bite will let him finally be the wolf that lingers in his blood.

But he would still need training, learning to anchor himself, learning to dial back his senses and to dial them up, and Peter will begin teaching all his Pack how to fight next weekend considering Kate and Victoria Argent still linger in Beacon Hills.

 _That_ is something he'll have to keep an eye on, and hopefully Chris will have some idea of what to do in watching both his wife—soon to be ex—and his sister, so they won't be caught off guard when they finally strike.

Then there was the nurse in the school, Jennifer, and Peter is only keeping himself from ripping her throat out because he knows Noah is building up a case on her—and others.

"Cool," Stiles tears one bread roll and dunks it in the soup before popping the soggy piece of bread into his mouth and chewing, he swallows before he talks again. "I'll invite them over Friday."

"Lydia can bunk in my room," Allison offers with a hint of a blush making Chris eye her suspiciously.

"I'm not sharing my room with Jackson," Derek immediately says as he looks up with a scowl. "It's our room, mine and Stiles' room."

 _Our room_ , Stiles thinks with a giddy smile.

Stiles pauses and then tilts his head to the side, “Wait, so is it like a little Mate Den room then?”

Once again that night, Chris finds himself choking on a spoonful of soup.

“Oh, you finally told him you were mates? Congratulations,” Peter smirks, lifting his napkin up to wipe at Chris’s mouth when the man sits up.

“Wait! You guys are mates? Oh wow, that’s—that’s awesome. Jackson is going to hate that,” Allison grins, “Now there’s no way he can compete with soulmates.”

“Damn right,” Derek huffs, wrapping a possessive arm around his mate’s shoulder and nosing at his hairline.

“Possessive wolf,” Stiles teases, but ends up turning his head to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“Is there any other pressing need we need to know about? Or can I eat in peace?” Chris grumbles.

"What? You don't enjoy this lively dinner conversation?" Peter teases as Chris almost hunches over his soup. "Shouldn't you be happy that Derek told Stiles about being mates?"

"I _am_ happy," Chris says, glancing at Stiles and Derek as if to reassure them. "I just want to eat in peace."

"I like that we can talk and eat," Allison says as she leans her elbows on the table. "It's nice."

And very different from the almost awkward questions and tense silence between her parents in the past. Allison hadn't laughed during a dinner for....well, years probably.

Chris softens at Allison's words.

"I am always happy to provide lively conversation at the dinner table," Stiles informs Allison with a grin, Derek tightening his grip on Stiles' shoulders for a moment before continuing to eat with one hand.

* * *

They finish up dinner together and Stiles is in torn between wanting to practice magic or hang out with Allison.

But Peter ends up deciding for him when the Alpha hands a giant worn-down leather book to him.

“Come on, you’re not going to get any better at magic if you don’t practice,” Peter smirks, marching Stiles to the study. “Tonight, you’re going to be studying magical theory, you’ll read the first fifty pages of that and then we’ll do some exercises.”

“This is starting to sound a lot more like homework,” Stiles grumbles as he settles down on a chair.

“Fun homework,” Peter responds, pulling out a book he was reading yesterday. “Now quit complaining.”

He glances over to Allison and Derek who are standing in the doorway.

“Not tonight, kiddies. Stiles needs to practice his magic, so I’ll be keeping him here for a few hours. Perhaps you too could watch a movie or two, and get to know one another.”

“Uh, sure,” Allison glances at the older man, suddenly feeling a little nervous because this is her older brother.

Older _step_ brother? No. Older brother. She wasn’t sure but she knew he was family.

Derek stares at his mom with some muted horror.

Peter wants him to spend time with Allison, _alone_ , and without Stiles as a buffer? Was Peter _mad_? Didn't Peter realise Derek didn't do people?

"I have some shows and movies on my laptop...?" Allison trails off hopefully as she stares up at Derek with big brown eyes.

Derek almost flinches away from the big Bambi brown eyes staring up at him so hopefully that Derek literately can't say no.

"Okay...?" Derek trails off as he sends a desperate glance towards Peter and Stiles.

But Peter had activated Stiles' weakness and Stiles didn't seem to even register that Derek is still in the room—which didn't hurt his feelings, damnit!--and his mother is pretending to read while smirking to himself.

Derek turns to his last resort and Chris gives him a brief sympathetic look before pulling his phone out with a grimace—Chris had his own challenge to deal with tonight, contacting Victoria and convincing her to meet up so she can sign the papers.

"Great," Allison reaches out to grab Derek's arm, but hesitates before she actually touches him to look up at Derek. "Can I touch you?"

Derek blinks at Allison, startled as someone other than Stiles asked that, and nods slightly making Allison beam up at him with the full force of her dimples before grabbing Derek's arm gently and tugging them to her room—not her room _her room_ , but room she's staying in for now.

Derek follows Allison into the room and pauses as he takes in the traces that Laura left behind in the room.

 _There's_ the leather jacket Laura annoyed Peter into buying her after Peter gave Derek his old one that she ended up hardly wearing once she got it, she had left it thrown carelessly over the desk chair tucked against the corner of the room.

 _There's_ the small collection of swimming and track trophies she decided she didn't need to display in her actual room anymore, but refused to throw away.

The sight of all the old things his sister used to own makes something crumble a little in Derek’s chest, it makes him almost tempted to turn and run tail. But then Allison is still moving him along until they’re sitting on the bed together.

“So, I know Halloween already passed and what not, but Halloween movies are my favorite thing. Are you okay with watching those kinds of things?” Allison glances over at him as she pulls out her laptop.

“Sure,” Derek shrugs, feeling completely out of place at the moment.

This is weird, even for him.

Sitting on a teenage girls bed, that use to belong to his dead sister. Oh, and add in on the fact that Allison is technically his sister. It makes his wolf growl with confusion.

Allison smells like an Argent, which his wolf immediately distrusts and bares teeth at.

But then when he leans in closer he smells that kind of family trait which throws his wolf off, Peter and Stiles both scent marked her which has his wolf whining for comfort.

It’s a mess of instincts and it has him running in circles.

“We should watch Beetlejuice first, I love Tim Burton’s films so much. Weird and funny,” Allison glances over at him again as she starts up the movie.

Derek doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what she expects from him, and he really wishes Stiles was here.

He'd probably have a ton of things to say about the movie and some interesting facts while Derek hasn't seen it for years.

Allison is staring at him expectedly, the mouse icon hovering over Beetlejuice, and he realises she wants him to be okay with it before starting.

It's weird, people don't normally ask _Derek_ what he would like or want, they don't ask _Derek_ if they can touch him, they just do what they want and expect Derek to either like it or put up with it.

Peter gives him soft affection while always giving him a chance to shy away, not that Derek would. It's his _mom_ as he wants to spoil Derek with affection, and Derek feels like a needy and greedy child again as he craves every bit of affection that Peter gives him, the deep and gentle love in Peter's voice as he calls Derek 'Pup'.

Stiles always _asks_. He asks if Derek wants to cuddle, he asks if Derek wants to kiss, and he keeps saying unreal things like he'll go at _Derek's_ pace, that it's _Derek's_ choice how fast they go, and he doesn't mind not having sex yet, admits he isn't ready himself.

And now there's _Allison_. She's an Argent and he shouldn't be able to look at her without seeing _Kate_ , but his wolf also sees her as a _sister_ , the daughter of his mother's mate. Allison has taken the cue from Stiles, _asking_ before touching Derek, _asking_ for his opinion and waiting patiently for it, and it's not _normal_ , it's not how the world works in Derek's experience.

And even Chris, _Chris Argent_ , is being nice to Derek, talking him down from a panic and not making him feel stupid, he actually _comforted_ Derek and says he doesn't think Derek will turn into a monster like Derek fears.

Derek doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what to make of it.

She's still waiting, a hopeful and patient look on her face, and Derek's throat feels tight.

"Sounds good," he manages in a gruff tone.

They get about ten minutes into the movie before Allison’s fidgeting starts to grate on his nerves.

“I can leave,” Derek bites out, “If I’m making you uncomfortable just tell me, and I’ll leave.”

“What? No, no. You’re not making me uncomfortable, Derek,” Allison turns her head from the screen to stare at him, “Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been sitting there and fidgeting in your seat since the start of this movie,” he points out.

“I—you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

He raises a pointed eyebrow, “Then why do you keep fidgeting?”

“Does it make you angry? That I’m sleeping in your sister’s room? I know she was important to you, and I don’t want to stay in here if it makes you angry,” Allison blurts out, “If you want, I’m sure Peter can find me a new room to stay in or I can sleep on the couch.”

Derek stares at her, her earnest and worried face, and he glances around at the few bits of Laura that his sister had bothered to leave behind.

It reminds him that he should probably do something about their small apartment, get their stuff shipped here.

But he looks at the jacket, the jacket Laura only wore once or twice after begging Peter to buy her one and accusing Peter of playing favourites with Derek, and then she had dumped it on her desk-chair and forgot all about it.

He looks at the neat line of old trophies, only brought here to make room for her more recent ones and future trophies.

Laura had never taken to Peter like Derek and Cora, she hadn't enjoyed spending nights over at Peter's like they did, and that's why her room still felt like a guestroom compared to the rooms Peter gave Derek and Cora which actually felt and feels like _their_ rooms.

This room only vaguely belonged to Laura, it didn't have her personality stamped into it.

Hell, she didn't even bother to ask for the cream walls to be painted like Derek and Cora did, soft green for Derek and a navy blue for Cora though she had asked if Peter could do a forest mural on one wall which Peter did and even got Cora to help—he bets there is still a wonky fawn-brown painted deer that Peter had sketched and Cora painted and coloured in with broad strokes of her brush.

Derek knows if he had the strength, he could open Cora's room and still smell her scent, could look around and see her personality stamped all over the room—from the lines of 'pretty' river-stones and pinecones on one shelf, the photo-frames with pressed flowers in them that Cora thought were pretty or interesting on another, the collection of books stacked on her desk, the cleats from soccer hanging from her wardrobe handle, and the wildlife paintings that Peter patiently painted for her and hung up to her delight.

All those things and more made it _Cora's_ room.

But _this_? All this didn't make it Laura's room.

“It’s....you don’t have to,” Derek starts, his throat clicking as he swallows. “Even though this room was for Laura, she never used it. Never invested or made it a home for her. She barely ever came over here either, but that’s because she didn’t have a bond with Peter like Cora, and I did.”

He stares at the leather jacket, “She was mo—Talia’s golden child, her favorite, the next in line Hale Alpha. So, Talia had her under her thumb since she was young, and Laura kind of stuck to our mot—Talia’s shadows. So no, it doesn’t bother me that you’re in here, the room was probably covered in even more dust since Laura hadn’t used this room since...”

Derek tries to think, he tries to remember as best as he can, but the memories are like smoke in his hands.

And it shakes Derek to the core at the fact his memories of his sister are only a handful before the fire, Derek had always tried to keep the spotlight off of him growing up, afraid of his mother’s anger, and the strange way his father loved him more than his daughters. It was sick and twisted.

“You can’t remember, can you?”

Allison’s voice shakes Derek from the past, and makes him focus on what’s happening before him.

“Not really. I spent more time here than Laura did, even when I was angry at Peter, I felt more comfortable here than in my own home.”

“I feel that. My mom was never abusive or hurtful, but she wasn’t exactly the nurturing type either. When I was five she decided I had enough time with dolls, and it was time to read books.”

Allison snorts a little, "I say dolls, but they were really action figures. You know, Superman, Batman, and I think I had the whole of the X-men collection too. But apparently being five means I was too old for them anymore, and books were more important. Books, and archery, a camping trip every other weekend."

Looking back, Allison could see it was actually training to become a Hunter which is a little unsettling to realise her mother was stealthy training her to kill people.

"My mo—Talia, Talia didn't like me all that much, she always got angry with me and I didn't know why," Derek confesses while keeping his gaze firmly on the screen, sightless to the moving images. "She didn't hit me or anything."

Knowing that he wasn't her son, that he really is Peter's son, well, he understood why Talia didn't like him and he knew why she never hit him, no matter how angry she got at him.

Peter would have killed her, would have killed any of the Pack that stood with Talia if she laid one hand on Derek.

"I think she wanted to at times," Derek admits, something he always knew but never allowed himself to think about. "But I know that Peter would have killed her if she ever did."

Allison shifts closer to him, and slowly moves to rest her head against his shoulder, "Is this alright?"

Derek had stiffened, but he slowly forces himself to relax, "It's fine."

“Okay, cool,” Allison grins softly, continuing to watch the movie. “Do you think it’s kind of weird?”

“Hm?”

“That you're technically an older brother? I mean since Jackson and Malia are your siblings. And I guess I am too?”

“I was an older brother before the fire, when I still had my little sister Cora,” Derek says softly, feeling the sinking sadness and grief in his stomach again.

“Oh—I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine,” Derek sniffs, “I’ve gotten used to it. The grief and the loss, it’s been six years. Besides, having Jackson as a younger brother just means I get a free pass to bully him.”

Derek smirks when he hears Allison laughing next to him.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I certainly will. If that little asshole thinks he’s got a chance with Stiles. He’s in for a big surprise,” Derek scoffs.

"Oh, that's mean," Allison says before giggling. "Though I don't think that will be the first _big_ surprise he's had."

Derek glances down at her in confusion, and Allison looks up at him with a smirk.

"Considering the surprise Stiles' is apparently packing," Allison waggles her eyebrows, and watches in delight as Derek freezes as he realises what she just said and meant, and then red creeps all the way up his neck, over his face and turning the tips of his ears the same shade of red.

 _"Allison!"_ Derek says in a strangled tone, and Allison erupts in laughter.

"What?" Allison says with laughter clear in her voice. "I've had heard about how big it could be all day."

Derek refuses to look at her, staring at the screen while trying to will his blush away.

"Jackson thinks he's at least seven inches, but Lydia's starting to think he's actually bigger," Allison says in a teasing tone. "What do you think?"

"I heard," Derek says darkly. "Stiles didn't shower because he's now freaked out that Jackson will watch him in the shower."

Allison keeps her head on Derek's shoulder as she thinks it over, "Kind of understandable, considering Jackson's pretty sure how big Stiles is."

“Let’s stop talking about Stiles’ dick, please? How about we talk about you obvious crush on Lydia?”

Allison sits up and turns to stare at him with wide, horrified eyes, “You know! Am I really that obvious—holy crap, do you think Lydia already knows?! Oh nooo, this is the worst thing!”

Derek raises an eyebrow at her, a smirk slowly curls it’s way on his face.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think she actually knows. But to a werewolf,” he taps on his nose, “It’s pretty obvious.”

“Don’t tell anyone, please?” she covers her face with her hand. “I already know I’m bisexual, but after the stuff that went down with Scott, I don’t think I’m ready for another relationship. And besides, Lydia’s happy with Jackson.”

“I thought Jackson was trying to get with Stiles?”

Allison waves her hand around, “It’s complicated. Jackson is Lydia’s beard and vice versa. Um, if you don’t know what that is, it’s—“

“I know what it is,” Derek rolls his eyes, “I’ve been a bartender before, and you learn a thing or two with the people you have to talk to at work. At least the nice ones who aren’t completely drunk, and trying to get into your pants.”

Allison blinks and stares at Derek, "But I thought you were nineteen...?"

"I am," Derek nods easily as he leans back against Allison's pillows. "But I've always looked older than I was, and Laura got me IDs that said I was older, so I could get a job so I could help out."

"How long were you working in the bar?" Allison asks, deciding not to ask why Derek needed to get a job when the Hale's seem very flushed with money.

"Uh, about three years?" Derek cocks his head slightly as he thinks, and Allison gapes.

"Since you were _sixteen_?" Allison asks in disbelief, wondering what type of older sister let their sixteen-year-old brother work in a bar. "And people kept hitting on you?"

"Well, yeah," Derek shrugs. "Most got the hint, but others didn't and got more annoying as they drank more."

"That's..." Allison trails off before she can say horrible then she decides to change the subject back to what they were speaking about before. "Right, so Jackson's apparently gay, I thought he was bi considering when Scott said, you know, about Stiles, he said he was one too, but apparently he's full on gay, and Lydia is a lesbian."

"Huh," Derek says thoughtfully.

It made sense when Derek thought of it, Jackson and Lydia smelled strongly of each other given all the touching and everything, but there was no arousal in their scents when they looked at each other or touched.

"And ended up asking about them having sex, because I know they have sex," Allison rambles on. "And it turns out that Lydia gets off having power over Jackson or something like that, and Jackson apparently thinks of Stiles—"

Allison slaps her hand over her mouth as Derek stills and growls.

"He _what_?"

“Ummm, nope! Nope! Nope. I didn’t say anything!” she turns around to stare at the computer screen. “Come on, Derek. Stop chatting through the movie and pay attention!”

Derek continues to stare at Allison with a dark look on his face, but the teenager doesn’t crack.

“Fine,” he huffs, laying back against the stack of pillows while he glares holes into the computer screen. “I’ll let you off this once. And this once only.”

“I can’t hear you! Sorry, Derek, this movies really loud,” Allison gives him a dimples smile.

“That doesn’t work on me,” he rolls his eyes, and he gives her a nudge.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Allison pushes him back.

Derek doesn't even budge, smirking smugly as Allison huffs and keeps pushing at him.

"Oh, it's on!" Allison says darkly, it's a matter of pride now, and she keeps pushing at Derek as he pretends to just watch the movie.

"Are you doing something?" Derek asks innocently as he crosses his arms smugly over his chest.

"That's so annoying!" Allison huffs as she turns to press her back against Derek's shoulder and places her feet against the wall to push against Derek.

Derek huffs out a laugh as he locks himself in place.

"I will win!" Allison grunts out. "You will not beat me!"

Derek snorts and flops to the side making Allison give a cheer of triumph.

"Ha! I win! I beat you!" Allison slumps against him as he straightens. "Oh my god, you are _so_ heavy."

"Are you calling me fat?" Derek says in a mock offended and hurt tone, and Allison almost yelps as she sits up and waves her hands.

"No! No, of course not!" she protests frantically as Derek's shoulders shudder and he covers his mouth with one hand. "Oh! Derek, I'm so sorry, please don't—you're laughing! You're laughing at me!"

Allison gapes as Derek's muffled laugh escapes from behind his hand, and then she pushes at Derek's shoulder.

"You jerk!" Allison tells him with a big grin on her face. "I can't believe you did that!"

“You know, I could be an even bigger jerk,” Derek points out with a smirk.

“What’s that supposed to—AH! HAHAHA!” Allison screams as Derek starts to tickle her sides. “No! Stop it! Derek, you’re the worst!”

“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you this movie is just really loud,” Derek huffs next to her, smirking as she tries to slap his hands away.

“This isn’t fair! You have werewolf strength,” Allison, punches his shoulder and squirms as Derek keeps tickling her. “Big meanie!”

Cackling a little to himself, Derek pulls his hands away and smirks when Allison punches his shoulder again.

“Awful! I’m telling Stiles how mean you were to me,” Allison pouts, flipping down next to Derek again.

Derek gives her a nonchalant shrug, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“When I find out where your ticklish spot is, I’m going to use that angst you _so_ much. Until you're crying,” Allison crosses her arms, staring at the laptop screen again.

“Sure, whatever you say...little sis,” Derek tests the words out, waiting to see Allison’s reaction.

Allison gives a gasp as she turns to Derek with a beaming smile on her face, and Derek ducks his head a little to hide his smile.

"You, you called me little sis!" Allison almost squeals the last part and throws her arms around Derek. "You _like_ me! You, you are so..."

Allison gives a wet hiccup as happy tears brim in her eyes and Derek pats her back almost stiffly as she buries her face against his shoulder.

"You are _so_ my brother now," Allison informs him wetly, sniffling. "You can't take it back, it's been said now. It's out there, in the world, and can never be taken back."

Derek gives a heavy and fake sigh, "I suppose I'm stuck with you now."

"Yep," Allison says as she nuzzles against Derek's shoulder. "You're stuck with me forever."

"I suppose I can deal with that," Derek says gruffly, a smile tugging at his lips as he wraps an arm around Allison's shoulder.

Allison leans against him and turns her face so she can watch the movie, "I have no idea what's happen right now."

"Neither do I," Derek admits as he frowns at the screen. "I can't even remember it enough to know what's going on."

“God, you really are the older brother.” Allison snorts.

Derek turns his head to give her a look, “Seriously? I’m not _that_ old.”

“You’re like a grandpa, so old.”

“Fine,” Derek sighs out, “I was going to ask if you wanted to go sneak some of Peter’s homemade cookies, but I guess that’s a no.”

Allison grabs his arm before he can run away, “Wait, wait, wait! No, you’re the cooler older brother, come on Der! Lemme have a cookie, please.”

“Don’t tell Stiles.”

Allison makes the zipping her lips motion, and the both of them smirk to one another as they leave her room.

Walking into the empty kitchen, Derek opens up one of the cabinets and pulls out the plastic container with the cookies in them. Smiling at Allison as she practically bounces on her toes for a bite of the delicious, sweet treats.

They both munch on a few of them, Derek leaning against the counter while Allison leans against the island in the kitchen. Both freezing when Peter steps into the kitchen.

“Oh, good. I was just about to grab a few of those, magic makes Stiles’ sugar levels low,” he picks up a few of them.

“Stiles doing okay?”

“Well, besides setting the couch on fire, I would say so.”

Derek almost drops his cookie as his head snaps towards the entrance towards the living room with alarm.

" _Fire?_ " Allison almost yelps, and Peter heaves a sigh.

"He was meant to be lighting a candle," Peter explains as he picks up a few more cookies with a hum. "Luckily, the couch is genuine leather, so it's only lightly charred though the room smells like burnt hair."

"Why didn't the fire alarm go off or something?" Allison asks as Derek stuffs the rest of his cookie in his mouth and then marches into the living room, intent on checking over his mate.

"Ah," Peter looks vaguely embarrassed and chagrined as he grabs Derek’s shoulder and stops him. "I haven't actually got around to checking and replacing the batteries in any of my smoke-detectors."

And the alarms are more than vaguely annoying with werewolf hearing when they decide to go off.

"Isn't that the first thing you should do?" Allison demands, and Peter blinks at her in confusion.

"No?" Peter asks more than says as he nudges Derek back to the cookies. "First you need to make sure that all the utilities are on, there's food and then you have the clear the place of that musty and dusty smell because _that_ can get annoying fast."

"That's a werewolf thing, isn't it?" Allison asks after blinking a bit. "That the getting rid of the smell is above checking the detectors?"

“Of course, we have sensitive noses after all. I’d be able to smell something burning before I even entered the apartment,” Peter shrugs, taking a bite of a cookie before turning to leaving the kitchen. “Try not to eat all the cookies at once!”

“Yes, mom,” Derek rolls his eyes jokingly, grinning when Allison giggles near him.

* * *

Smiling as he hears the two of them having a swell time, Peter enters the study again where Stiles is lying face first on the ground.

Rolling his eyes at the teenager’s dramatic flair, Peter sets the plate of cookies on the ground before coming over to nudge him with his foot.

“Are you still breathing at least?”

“Yes,” Stiles grumbles, pulling his head up to glare at the Alpha.

“Don’t frown, it’s not cute,” Peter chuckles, “Besides, I brought you a treat.”

“Cookies!? Oh my god, you are the best,” Stiles sits up to snatch the plate up, immediately shoving a cookie in his mouth and moaning at the taste.

"Yes, yes I am," Peter preens before wrinkling his nose at the lingering smell of charred hair and moving over to the window to open it. "I think we need to put fire on a hold for now."

Stiles glances guiltily towards the charred couch and the throw that Peter sacrificed to bravely pat out the fire, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

"Or at least until we set up somewhere safe for you to practice it," Peter says with a sigh as he sits in one of the leather chair and mourns his couch—he'll need to replace it.

"I am _really_ sorry about the couch," Stiles says guiltily before shoving another cookie in his mouth.

"I know, dear boy," Peter gives a critical glance around his office. "Perhaps it's a sign I should redecorate the office, I mean _it is_ six years out of date."

“I thought it looked pretty nice,” Stiles shrugs, as he stands up finishing off the last of the cookies given to him. Brushing off he crumbs on his shirt before looking back up, “We finished for the night?”

“Yes. I do believe setting fire to my couch is a sign that practice is put on hold until tomorrow,” Peter looks at the couch again.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that,” Stiles scratches at the back of his neck, feeling awful for destroying the very nice couch Peter owned.

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and the Alpha gives him a gentle smile before pulling him into a hug.

“Don’t worry about it, Stiles. I’m just happy your safe. Now, I believe it is your bed time,” Peter smirks when Stiles groans in anguish.

“That’s so lame. Are we going to have a Pack pile tonight?”

Peter shakes his head, “Not tonight pup, I believe Derek will probably want some alone time with his mate in the den he made for the both of you.”

Stiles blushes as he remembers what had happened earlier, “Right...right...me and Derek. In bed, together.”

Peter watches with amusement as Stiles blushes harder and continues in a rather distracted tone, "Alone, alone together in a bed. Derek in his boxers, showing off his glorious chest and all that _skin_."

"Sounds delightful," Peter says in an amused tone. "Sounds _exactly_ like what Chris and I will be doing tonight."

Stiles binks then squints at Peter, " _That's_ why we aren't doing a Pack pile, you want to have sex with Chris!"

"Yes," Peter admits with no shame as he grabs the plate and turns to the door. "I'm pretty sure you don't want to be right next to us while we’re having sex."

"No, that sounds weird...." Stiles trails off and squints at Peter. "Wait, is that a Pack thing? Is public sex a thing?"

Peter just smirks as he strides out of the door.

"Peter! Peter! Is public sex a Pack thing?! Am I going to having sex in front of you? Are _you_ going to have sex in front of me?" Stiles demands as he follows after Peter and into the kitchen.

Derek chokes on his cookie, banging his fist on his chest and Allison giggles.

“I guess you’ll have to find out yourself,” Peter smirks before planting a kiss on his son’s forehead, cupping Derek’s face in his hands so he can rub their cheeks together and mix their scents.

Derek purrs are his mother’s tender loving touches, his insides turning to goo at the amount of attention Peter is giving him.

“ _Mom_ ,” Derek whines as Peter pulls him into a strong hug.

“Shush, Pup. I have years of love I need to catch up on,” he presses one more kiss before moving back and then pulls Allison into a hug next. “Remember not to stay up late, you both still have school you need to deal with tomorrow.”

“Okay, _mom_ ,” Stiles jokes, with a roll of his eyes, laughing when Peter swipes a hand at him, moving over to Derek’s side Stiles glances up at the man’s face and waits for permission before cuddling up against Derek’s side.

“Practice went well?” Derek turns his head to nuzzle against Stiles’ buzzcut.

“Yeah, but I’m kind of exhausted from it so I might turn in early,” Stiles says with a big yawn at the end.

“You might have to turn in now,” Derek grins, wrapping an arm around his mate’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m a little tired as well,” Allison yawns, “I’ll see you both in the morning. Night Stiles, night Der!”

Allison gives a wave back as she leaves the kitchen, and Stiles turns to beam up at Derek.

"What?" Derek asks gruffly, turning his face away from his beaming mate as a blush turns his ears red.

"You're _bonding_ ," Stiles squeezes Derek's side.

Peter chuckles at his son's embarrassment, and presses a kiss to Derek's cheek before leaving the kitchen.

"Christopher," Peter calls out as he seeks out his mate's heartbeat. "Let's have sex!"

Allison giggles as she closes the door of the bedroom behind her, while Derek groans against Stiles' head.

"Wow, I was joking about them having sex," Stiles says before continuing in a musing tone. "You know, it is surprisingly hot to imagine them together."

Derek groans as he pushes Stiles away before putting away the container of cookies, "I don't need to imagine them together, I don't want to imagine them together. Not when I can actually hear them already."

"Huh, well that's awkward," Stiles says out loud as Derek wraps his arm around his shoulder and pulls him to their room, turning off the lights as he goes. "So, you can smell _and_ hear them? That must be awkward."

"Err, kind of? But not really," Derek shrugs as he opens the door to their bedroom. "It's different for wolves."

"Really?" Stiles asks curiously as he shuts the door behind them, and swallows his tongue as he turns around to see Derek stripping off his top and throwing it carelessly into to the hamper.

Stiles' gaze lingers on Derek's tattooed back, sliding down the play of muscles as Derek buttons his jeans and begins the whole process of taking them off.

 _Don’t make this awkward, Stiles. Don’t make this awkward_ , he tells himself, closing his eyes to take a deep breath.

“Okay, we got this,” he mutters to himself, taking off his shirt and putting it in the clothing hamper before taking off his sweatpants next.

Derek glances over at where Stiles is undressing, and looks away when he sees the pale expanse of Stiles’ chest, cheeks burning a little as he tries to keep himself away from thinking of inappropriate thoughts of his mate.

“Do you want to sleep against the wall or...?” he asks.

“The wall is fine, I’m ok with sleeping between two hard things,” Stiles winks, grinning as both their cheeks flush red. “I’m joking by the way, um—I mean. No, I think you’re hot, I’m just trying not to make a come on.”

Derek ducks his head to hide both his smile and blush as Stiles slaps a hand over his face.

"I'm going to stop talking and get into bed," Stiles decides as he walks passed Derek and climbs into bed, Derek keeping his eyes averted away from what is no doubt wonderful sight of Stiles' ass as the younger teen climbs over the bed.

He waits until he can't hear Stiles shifting and the rustling of the covers, and then Derek looks towards the bed and his breathing catches in his throat.

Stiles lay on his side, his head propped up by his hand, and he had thrown the covers back invitingly for Derek.

The view makes Derek's chest warm and that strange warmth and swooping sensation in his stomach to happen, and Derek can't help the stalk he falls into his as he walks over to the bed and his tempting mate.

Stiles swallows thickly, but Derek can't scent any fear from him, only a ripening scent of arousal that makes him growl.

"Derek..." Stiles trails off as Derek climbs on the bed and leans over him, and he gasps as Derek leans down and drags his nose along Stiles' throat with a rumble.

Derek's head feels fuzzy, muddled, as he takes deep and greedy inhales of his mate's scent ripe with arousal, and then his mate is gripping his hair and giving it a tug, away from that pretty neck.

"I thought we both agreed that it's too fast and soon," Stiles says breathlessly, his dick hard and twitching in his boxers just from Derek _sniffing_ him.

Derek shakes his head, trying to clear it from the lust and ignoring his cock hard in his boxers. It's harder to ignore the scent of precum and knowing that Stiles is hard because of _him_ , and it makes his wolf howl and want to present himself.

Derek bites down on his inner cheek, hard, as the image pops in his head of him _presenting_ himself to Stiles like some needy bitch in heat, and he feels himself doing that strange clenching down as his wolf whines.

Jerking back a little, Derek’s nostrils flare as he smells the fuel scents of his and Stiles’ arousal in the air. It makes him feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside, and he curls up tighter around his mate.

“You okay, big guy?” Stiles reaches up to pet Derek’s hair, smiling as his boyfriend buries his face against his chest.

“Yeah,” Derek takes another moment to inhale deeply, “Yeah, I just need a moment.”

“Okay. Just take your time, Sourwolf,” Stiles yawns at the last part, letting his eyes close as he gets lost in petting his boyfriends hair.

It’s so soft, Stiles is almost tempted to ask the man what he uses when he’s washing.

“Tired?” Derek sits up a little so he can stare down at Stiles’ sleepy face.

“Dude, magic takes a lot out of my system,” Stiles grumbles, opening one eye to stare at Derek’s patch of hair on his chest. “Hairy wolf.”

Glancing down at his chest, Derek blushes when Stiles brings a hand up to stroke through the hair on there.

“I’m guessing you like the hair?” he smirks.

“Mmmh, soft. Softy wolf. Big teddy bear,” Stiles hums and then slowly let’s sleep overtake him.

Derek smiles as he leans down to nuzzle at Stiles' buzzcut, before shifting them so Derek's lying flat on his back and Stiles is draped over his chest.

He closes his eyes to follow his mate into sleep when he hears the sound of Peter's bedroom door slamming shut and the muffled sound of _his mother_ making out with _Chris Argent._

Derek stares blankly up at the ceiling, before firmly turning his hearing so he can only hear Stiles' heartbeat, it's steady and slow beat in Stiles' sleep.

It's easy to fall asleep to the smell of Stiles' sleepy contentment, to the lingering smell of their arousal and the relaxing beat of Stiles' heartbeat.


	4. Chapter Four, "This is why I come up with the plans. Your plans suck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for mentions of rape, murder and such things.
> 
> Note from Raw: So I’ve noticed a lot of you are reading this in one go-and spending the whole night reading it, so I would just like to remind ya’ll to PLEASE GET SOME SLEEP!! If it’s one in the morning and you’re still reading this put the phone down!! Sleep deprecation is not cool! This fic will be here tomorrow still, your sleep is not! I’m glad y’all enjoy the story but sleep is very important!! PLEASE GET YOUR Z’s!!
> 
> From your non-binary raccoon!

Stiles wipes at his face as he starts to wake up, his face turning red as he finds himself curled around Derek’s giant sleeping body.

His boyfriend has his face pressed against Stiles’ chest, his nose flattened a little from the way he’s pressed up, arms curled possessively around Stiles’ chest, one hand planted on the middle of his back and the other one is cupping Stiles’ ass.

“Oh my god,” Stiles feels his whole face turn red.

 _Damn it, I just need to piss_ , Stiles thinks to himself, glancing at the alarm clock and grumbling when he sees how early it is.

Moving and twisting himself around, Stiles squeaks when Derek growls under his breath and pulls Stiles back against his chest.

He can feel the man’s aching erection against his back, and it makes Stiles’ face turn a darker shade of red.

“ _Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod_ ,” Stiles breathes under his breath as he continues to try and worm his way out of Derek’s arms.

“ _Mmmmghh_ , Stiles...” Derek groans in his sleep, nosing against the back of Stiles’ neck.

 _Do not get hard, do not get hard, do not get hard,_ Stiles thinks desperately to himself as he freezes, because pissing with a hardon? That's painful and difficult.

Then it gets worse for Stiles and his attempts to keep calm and soft, Derek gives a slight hump of his hips, Derek's clothed dick dragging against Stiles' back as he gives off a moan.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles hisses as Derek keeps moving his hips against his back. "I need to move, move now."

Derek opens his mouth as he pants hotly and wetly against the nape of Stiles' neck, his dick dragging against Stiles' back and Stiles whimpers as he feels the sticky wetness of Derek's precum sliding across his back.

Stiles needs to get out of Derek's grip, like now, before Stiles completely ruins things for them both by coming as Derek cums against his back.

_No more kisses, Derek will take like a dozen steps back after this, oh god, does this mean Derek wants to fuck me?_

Stiles' panic is derailed as he thinks about what this wet dream of Derek's could mean.

Should he look into a dildo or like a plug or something? To like train his ass to take something bigger than his curious fingers? Derek's much bigger than his fingers, hell, Derek's fingers were a lot thicker than Stiles'! But did that make Derek's dick big or just average?

Stiles didn't know!! He thought he was average until Jackson and Lydia kept making a big deal about his dick and saying he was big, so he doesn't know anymore!

And it's not like he can just ask when they both agreed it was too soon and fast to have sex with each other!

But what if he's just assuming things? What if he's just turning Derek into a stereotype? Like just because Derek's taller than him, a lot more muscular than him, and shit doesn't mean he automatically wants to top!

What if he wants to bottom? What if he's actually dreaming of Stiles fucking _him_ and Stiles is assuming otherwise because Derek's humping against him?

His bladder complains strongly and loudly.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Stiles whines, finally just deciding to push Derek’s arms off of him.

The man makes a noise in his sleep and rolls over to cuddle the pillow Stiles was sleeping on earlier.

Heading to the bathroom, Stiles says a prayer to God when he can finally use the toilet.

He sniffs and washes his hands after cleaning up, making sure to take some time to brush his teeth because morning breath is disgusting.

When he comes back into the room, Stiles grins when he sees his sleepy boyfriend curled up against the pillow he was using earlier.

Grabbing his phone from off the nightstand, Stiles holds it up and immediately takes a photo of Derek’s sleeping face.

Grinning as he sets it to be his Home Screen, while his Lock Screen is still a picture of him sitting between both Peter and Derek.

The Alpha grinning at the camera like the cat who got the canary while Derek just glared holes into it, it still makes Stiles snicker a little at the photo.

Setting his phone back down, Stiles curls up against Derek’s back instead of where he was earlier, not wanting to get between Derek and the pillow.

Stiles doesn’t fall asleep immediately, he ends up lying there for a while basking against the heat of Derek’s back while imagining a happy future with the older teenager together.

Unable to go back to sleep, Stiles grabs his phone and opens up a new tab in Safari so he can read some fanfiction while he waits for his alarm to go off.

Stiles is still marvelling over his new phone and all the features as he pulls up an old favourite.

Stiles pauses, and lifts himself up and onto one elbow as he squints curiously and suspiciously at the back of Derek's bedhead.

Did real werewolves knot?

Because he feels like that's something he should know, especially if he does decide to invest into some sort of plug or dildo, just in case Derek does top, because then he should look into something that can inflate or find one of those knotted dildos.

Could his ass actually cope with having a knot stretching him open like that?

Then again, Peter somehow managed to birth Derek from his ass—which is still weird because seriously, ass babies.

_Wait!_

Does this mean Derek can get _Stiles_ pregnant? Or is it only werewolves that can get pregnant?

Fuck, he needs to invest in condoms because he's not becoming a teenage stereotype by becoming a teenage dad and it's _far_ too soon to even think about babies and shit when they haven't even got to the point they feel comfortable having sex or anything sexual in nature.

Hell, making out is still a bit too much for them at the moment.

But still, condoms is something in invest in, and along with the just in case with plug or dildo.

Allison wants to go to the mall, Stiles remembers. He's sure that she wouldn't mind if he slipped away for a while considering Lydia is probably going to be there.

Stiles mentally pauses at the mention of Lydia.

_Oh god._

She'll probably come along, dragging Allison along too, and make _comments_ about what he looks at.

 _God, this is going to be one wreck after another_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he punches in a few things on his phone. Looking through some websites that claim to have accurate werewolf lore, he tries to go through a checklist with them as he reads through them.

Somehow his researching turns from werewolf lore websites to Edward x Jacob fanfictions, to the mating habits of actual wolves.

He’s so engulfed in his phone he doesn’t even realize Derek had woken up from his sleep.

The older man turns over to his other side and stares at Stiles’ profile while his mate scrolls through something on his phone.

Blinking a few times, Derek’s eyebrows scrunch together as he tries to understand what Stiles is reading.

When he reads the sentence, _”Wolves will spend up from five minutes to half an hour knotted with their mates pair”,_ Derek feels his whole face turn red.

_Knots!? Why the fuck was Stiles reading about knots? Does this mean he—oh god._

Derek bites at the inside of his cheek as he averts his gaze away from the phone.

 _Does this mean Stiles wants me to knot him?_ Derek thinks to himself. _But I thought we agreed about not having sex yet_!

The thought of Derek knotting Stiles, of pumping Stiles full of cum, it makes him shudder with that warm swooping feeling in his stomach, but not like when he thought of _presenting_ himself to Stiles last night.

Derek bites at the inside of his cheek harder because that's weird right?

He shouldn't have that feeling, right? He shouldn't want to bend over and present himself for Stiles to fuck him. He shouldn't want to present like a bitch in heat.

He's not gay, he's _not_.

 _"What's wrong, Sweetie? Come on, Sweetie, I'm getting bored here. You're not a faggot, are you?"_ Kate's voice hisses darkly in the back of his mind. _"Urgh, I can't believe I slept with a disgusting faggot."_

He's not, he's not, _he's not._

"Derek?"

Derek gasps as he snaps from his thoughts to see Stiles staring at him in concern, the warmth of Stiles' palm radiates against his cheek despite Stiles' hand hovering over it, and Derek almost whines as he presses his face against Stiles' hand.

"What's wrong, Der?" Stiles asks him worriedly, stroking along his cheekbone.

Derek shakes his head, turning his head to the side to press a kiss to the palm of Stiles’ hand.

“Derek?”

“Nothing. I just got caught up in the memory of something,” he shrugs off, dragging Stiles into his arms, nosing at his mates neck and inhaling the soft sleepy scent on him.

“You sure?” Stiles gets comfortable against Derek’s chest, smiling gently when Derek throws a leg over his hips.

“Why were you looking up knots?”

Stiles’ face suddenly turns red at that, and the smell of embarrassment and arousal fills Derek’s nose like paprika.

“Okay—so, don’t freak out. I was just getting lost in a research hole, and I was only supposed to be reading fanfiction, but then I was reading some A/B/O fics. And I was thinking, ya know, do werewolves have knots?” Stiles motions with his hands, “But then my mind was like oh, if knots are real can you get pregnant from them? How long do they last? Or how _big_ they get, cause dude if they say a man’s dick is as big as his hands, then I’m gonna need to stretch before we do anything.”

“Which is totally not a come on. Like—wait, shit—okay—fuck. I like you. And you know I like you. And we’re mates which I’m so down with, but I’m not ready for sex. Unless it’s just between my hand and me, and maybe my porn folder on my laptop.”

“Stiles—“

“But like, there’s also this thing called mutual masturbation that I’ve been looking into. Or like, phone sex?”

“Stiles—“

“Anyways—“

“Stiles!”

Stiles shuts his mouth with a snap and sheepishly looks at Derek.

Derek doesn't look angry or annoyed, or anything like that as he reaches up to stroke Stiles' cheek.

"First, I have no clue what A/B/O fics mean," Derek tells him and shifts his hand over Stiles' mouth when he opens his mouth and look ready to explain everything in detail. "Second, yes, born werewolves can knot, but it's normally only done with mates and/or people we trust."

Derek briefly bites on the inside of his cheek as he tries to figure out a way to say that Derek didn't really masturbate, that it was almost impossible to do when he can hear _Kate_ hissing in his ear as a reminder of what happened the last time his cock got hard and he let it rule his head.

And how it's got worse since he found out about his father and all he can think of whenever he gets hard because of Stiles, is that he's a monster and he's going to become just like his father.

That he wants to do something like that with Stiles, he does, but he _can't_. At least not yet.

"I'm not ready for anything sexual," Derek finally says as he moves his hand back to cupping Stiles' cheek.

Stiles nods slightly as he chews on his lower lip, "Yeah, that's fine. No problem, just like a thought for when you are, okay?"

Derek nods his head, swallowing a little as he keeps staring at his mate’s face.

“I promise,” Stiles pulls him a little closer and nudges their noses together. “I promise if there’s ever a time you feel uncomfortable, sexually or otherwise just tell me. You don’t have to hide it or push those feelings away, I never want to make you feel horrible about something.”

“I...I’ll try. But it’s hard sometimes trying to talk about these things without—“ Derek grits his teeth, and turns his head away.

But then those gentle, soft hands are on his face again, stroking against his scruff and turning his head so Stiles can press a gentle kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“It’s okay. Don’t pressure yourself to say something,” Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere else, I’m right here, Der.”

Derek swallows as he lifts a hand to cup the back of Stiles' head as he strokes the bristles of Stiles' buzzcut.

"I'll...try to remember that," Derek says softly, almost to himself.

"You never did explain why it's different for wolves," Stiles says as his eyes goes half-mast as Derek drags his nails over his scalp in a certain way.

"Hmm?" Derek runs his free hand up and down the arm Stiles threw over his chest.

"Like hearing and smelling when other people are having sex," Stiles reminds him, his thumb rubbing against Derek's pec. "Like you knew about Chris and Peter, I thought it would be awkward considering it's your mom. But you only said it was kind of awkward and then said it was different for wolves, so how is it different?"

Derek stares up at the ceiling as he tries to put into words that Stiles could understand.

"The first thing you have to understand is that werewolves aren't human," Derek starts slowly, as if he's still trying to find the words. "We look human, we can pass for human, but we're really not. We're wolves in human shape more than anything."

Stiles blinks, still rubbing slow circles against Derek's pec, and wonders why he had never truly understood what Derek just said.

Derek and Peter weren't human, had never been human, and holding them to the same human standards isn't something he should just do.

Suddenly, they—and even Jackson—makes so much more sense now.

"Growing up, clothes was something we wore to fit in more than anything," Derek almost shrugs. "Nudity isn't a big deal, we are who we are, and it doesn't matter what type of coverings we don. We are wolves, shifted or not, and wolves don't need clothes like humans do."

"It probably helps that you run so hot too," Stiles waits a beat before wagging his eyebrows as he glances up at Derek. "In more ways than one."

Derek snorts as he taps a finger against Stiles' head, "Let me continue."

"Yes, Mr Hale," Stiles grins teasingly up at him, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“So when it comes to thinks like sex, that’s a big difference from werewolves and humans. Sex is umm...” Derek blushes when he realizes what he’s about to say. “Sex is kind of like family dinner, in a way that it just happens, and we do it publicly. But when Talia was still the Alpha—I guess it kind of stopped because she was angry at Robert for...raping my mom. Laura wasn’t shy about things like sex, so when we were in New York together, sometimes I’d walk in on her and her partner having sex.”

“Again. Sex is different for werewolves. Sex in front of the pack is common, as well as sex in private. Both having different meanings, sex in front of the pack can range from things like dominance play, showing off your mate, or having your lover get used to being in a pack. While sex in privacy can usually mean other things as well.”

“Huh...” Stiles says after a moment, chewing on that piece of information. “So smelling your mom and Chris having sex is normal to smell?”

“Pretty much. Plus, since Peter is getting back with his mate, he’ll probably fuck him a lot of times. He’s been known to have no shame at all,” Derek rolls his eyes as he remembers the times he caught Peter with a bed fellow.

Only for one night though, Peter never had repeats and Derek guesses that was because he didn’t want to get attached.

"So," Stiles lays his head back on Derek's shoulder, "I'm going to walk in on them a lot?"

"Yeah," Derek tells him, and Stiles doesn't know if he should wrinkle his nose or comment on the strange hotness of the older men.

"I should probably tell Allison about this," Stiles muses, and Derek smirks slightly as he imagines Allison's reaction to unexpectantly walking on them.

"Wait, so you walked in on Laura," Stiles lifts his head to look curiously at Derek. "Did she ever walk in on you?"

Derek stiffens, stopping his calming and gentle motions on Stiles' arm.

"No," Derek says roughly, almost blankly, remembering the alley behind the bar he worked out and in the toilets, the _clogging_ smell of arousal and alcohol, foreign and _unwanted_ hands touching him all over, the point he stared at as he mindlessly fucked, the rustle of crisp notes being tucked into his pocket and the bile hitting the toilet or floor when he was _finally_ alone. "No, I never brought anyone home."

Stiles watches the way Derek's expression shutters, closes down and blank from emotion, and realises whatever sexual history that Derek's gained in the last wasn't anything good and probably along the lines of _Kate_ with Derek's own self-punishment involved in it.

"Hey," Stiles says softly, reaching up to stroke Derek's cheek and waits for Derek's amazing eyes turn back to him, "it's okay, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Derek's mouth trembles, like he's trying to say something, but then it firms into a thin line that only relaxes some when he turns into Stiles' palm and nuzzles at it, pressing a kiss to Stiles' palm.

“I’m fucked up,” Derek says after a moment, “You could write a _series_ of books on how fucked in the head I am. I hope you know what you’re getting into, with being my mate. Stiles, it might be _years_ until I’m ready for anything more. Are you sure you can handle waiting that long?”

 _Are you sure you can handle me?_ Goes unsaid.

Stiles stares at him for a long moment, the silence of it all feeling like a lifetime until his mate speaks.

“Trust me. If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that I can be a very patient man,” Stiles tells him, pulling him down to press a kiss to Derek’s forehead.

Derek melts under his mate’s soft touch, his words, the easy way he shows affection to Derek, like it isn’t a trouble for him, like he isn’t annoyed with how clingy Derek can be at times.

“You’re mine, Der. My mate, and I wouldn’t want anyone else,” Stiles presses another kiss against his forehead.

The words make something burn in Derek’s chest, and he smiles as he noses against Stiles’ collarbone.

"And hey," Stiles presses another kiss to Derek's forehead, "you're not the only one with issues and hang ups, okay? And if we spend the next five years only kissing? That's fine with me, hell, if we only get to solidly making out all the time after ten years, that's fine with me. I'm happy with cuddling you, a kissing you, and I am an old hand when it comes to porn."

Derek snorts slightly before lifting his head up for one of those kisses, feeling something ease in his chest as Stiles kisses him back softly and gently, and then something feels like it's cracking in his chest when one of Stiles' hands come up to cup his neck and his thumb rubs against his cheek with such gentleness like _Derek's_ something precious.

Derek whimpers as he tugs at Stiles, moving the more lean and shorter teen until Stiles' weight is pressing against him, anchoring him in this moment, and without thinking about it, Derek is spreading his legs and Stiles is settling in there like he's _made_ to be there.

Derek makes a protesting noise as Stiles pulls away, and Stiles leans back to press a kiss a short kiss to Derek's mouth.

"As much as I want to continue this," Stiles says as he ducks his head to press another kiss to Derek's pouty lips, "I think we both agree we're not ready for making out in the bed."

Derek wants to say that he's changed his mind, that he is ready, but he knows that he isn't, and so he lets himself slump back against the pillows and doesn't attempt to pull Stiles into kissing session that verges on making out.

Stiles pillows his head on Derek's strong shoulder, and Derek continues with what he was doing earlier by dragging his nails along Stiles' scalp, tugging slightly on the longer hair.

"Your hair is getting longer," Derek mentions idly, returning to just dragging his nails along Stiles' scalp.

"Yeah," Stiles rubs tiny circles on Derek's pec again, resisting the urge to move so he's circling Derek's nipple. "I'll need to buzz it soon."

“Hmmm,” Derek can’t decide if he wants Stiles to keep his hair buzzed, or if he wants to try and convince his mate to grow it out—either way he’s going to love Stiles, no matter what.

Although, it would be nice to have something to tug on when things get heated.

Pushing the thought aside, Derek settles back down on his bed. Enjoying the way, Stiles continues to pet him and run his fingers through Derek’s ever-growing chest hair.

“I’m taking a hint you really like the chest hair, huh,” Derek gives a raised eyebrow.

“If I say yes, are you going to keep growing it out because you want to, or because I said so?” Stiles looks up at his face.

“Uh....”

Stiles tweaks Derek’s nipple, smirking when he gets a startled growl from the werewolf, “Yeah, that’s what I thought, big guy.”

"I like not having to shave it every morning?" Derek offers, and Stiles rolls his eyes before he pats at Derek's chest.

"It's a start," Stiles says as he goes back to enjoying the swiftly growing hair.

Derek rolls his eyes before going back to enjoying the way his mate gives off contentment and enjoyment as Derek drags his nails over his scalp, and Derek thinks he could stay here all day with Stiles draped over him, anchoring him down and here.

Stiles doesn't know how long they lay like this and just enjoying the peace of being together, touching each other innocently, and for once, Stiles' mind seems quiet.

Of course, the peace of it all is ruined by the angry buzzing and ringing of Stiles' new phone lying forgotten beside them and trilling his alarm—the first thing Stiles put on after placing the picture as his lock-screen.

Stiles groans as Derek lets his hand drop to allow Stiles to move and turn off his alarm.

"Well, I guess this means we need to get up," Stiles heaves a sigh as he reluctantly gets off of Derek and flops beside him.

Derek huffs, annoyed that reality is breaking into his time with his mate, and Stiles pressing a skin to his shoulder before he rolls out of bed.

Stiles places his phone on the bedside table before stretching, and Derek guiltily admires the play of muscle under pale skin as Stiles does.

"So, do I have to venture into the room of sex for my clothes or what?" Stiles asks as he glances over his shoulder at Derek, and Derek jerks his gaze up.

"I put them away here," Derek says gruffly, and Stiles beams at him making Derek blush and almost preens.

"Awesome," Stiles says as he moves over to the set of drawers. "Err, which ones are mine?"

"Second and fourth," Derek answers as he turns to cuddle around Stiles' pillow.

"I really need to get some new socks and boxers," Stiles says as he pulls out the solid blue boxers and plain black socks from the second draw. "Something a bit more me."

“I like your Superman ones,” Derek admits, turning his head away so he doesn’t see the expression on Stiles’ face.

Stiles glances over at where Derek is seated and just smiles, before turning to look through the clothes Peter bought him.

Pulling on a pair of black overalls, Stiles adds on a nice orangish-brown sweater, so it looks like something for the fall weather.

He never once had gotten into fashion and that such, but living with Peter has opened his eyes to a few things and he can’t ignore the fact that his usual style of clothing was pretty lame.

* * *

Walking into the bathroom, Stiles splashes some water on his face before leaving to start on making breakfast. Peter wasn’t awake yet, so Stiles decided it was time to put his own cooking skills to a test.

Humming to himself as he starts cracking the eggs open and whisking away, Stiles scrolls through his Spotify playlist before choosing his cooking playlist.

He starts to quietly sing along with ABBA as he moves around the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee and setting out plates.

Grinning when Allison enters the kitchen, still in her pajamas and looking like she rolled out of bed.

“Morning, sunshine.”

Allison frowns at him, looking almost adorably confused by his presence at the stove, and is still sleepily messing with her hair.

"You're not Peter," Allison states as she glances around as if convinced that Peter will jump out from behind the island counter or something.

"And you look barely awake," Stiles says, amused, as he begins to herd the yawning girl over to the table.

Allison takes her seat and then slumps against the table, her arms crossed on the surface and acting as a pillow for her head as she watches Stiles move around the kitchen.

_Ooh,_

_You can dance,_

_You can jive,_

_"Having the time of your life,"_ Stiles sings as he whisks together some eggs. _"Ooh, see that girl."_

Stiles points at Allison, making her smile slightly, as he continues, _"Watch that scene, digging the dancing queen!"_

Stiles opens the fridge and grabs the full milk, adding a bit to the eggs before putting the milk back and grabbing the butter to put beside the shove as he searches for a pan to put on a low heat.

 _"Friday night and the lights are low,"_ Stiles sings as he grabs the bread from the bread-bin—because of course, Peter didn't leave the bread in his fridge or something like that, no, he got a nice wooden bread bin for all his bread needs—and opens it up to place the slices in the multi-slot toaster. _"Looking out for a place to go."_

 _"Where they play the right music, getting in the swing,"_ Stiles drops a knob of butter on the pan and lets it melt as he puts a pinch of salt in his egg mixture and continues to whisk while moving his hips to the beat. _"You come to look for a king, anyone could be that guy."_

Derek leans against the archway, a pair of sweatpants low on his hips, and watches Stiles with his arms crossed, resisting the urge to go over and press himself against Stiles' back, to feel the roll of Stiles' hips against him.

_"The night is young and the music's high."_

“It sounds like a dying squirrel in here,” Peter jokes as he enters the kitchen in a pair of boxers, Chris groggily entering behind him and looking like he got in a fight with a wild animal last night.

Or more specifically a wild Alpha werewolf.

Derek gives the older man a raised eyebrow as Chris tugs on the dark V-neck—which he’s positive belongs to Peter—and the man blushes, ducking his head a little as he goes to hide behind Peter.

 _Good_ , Derek thinks to himself, _he should be scared._

“You’re so mean, Peter,” Stiles points at Peter with the spatula, “No eggs for you.”

"Oh no," Peter says dramatically, clutching a hand to his bare chest. "Howe _ver_ will I cope?"

"My eggs are brilliant," Stiles sniffs as he turns away from Peter. "You'll be sorry for insulting me."

"Of course, dear boy," Peter says fondly before moving over to Derek and pulling his son into a hug. "And how is my baby boy this morning?"

" _Mom_ ," Derek grumbles as his ears turn red, but he nuzzles into the right side of Peter's neck as Peter runs a hand through his hair.

Peter chuckles, pressing a kiss to the side of Derek's head before pulling back and moving over to a half-asleep Allison, leaning down to press a kiss to her mess of curls before going to hover beside Stiles as he finishes his scrambled eggs, and the toast pops up.

Derek takes his chair as he watches Peter grab the toast with his claws and butters them while Stiles keeps bobbing and such to the music while poking at the eggs with the spatula.

"Come on, honey," Chris squeezes Allison's shoulder. "Breakfast is almost ready."

Allison sits up with a yawn, scratching at her hair as she leans back in her chair.

"Did you stay up late?" Chris smooths Allison's curls as she blinks blearily at the table.

The coffee-maker beeps and Derek gets up to grab the pot.

"I was arranging the visit to the mall today with Lydia," Allison smiles thankfully at Derek when he comes over to pour the coffee in her mug first, reaching forward for the sugar bowl Stiles had placed in the middle of the table earlier, and the small mug of milk that Derek grabbed from the fridge to doctor the coffee to her liking. "Apparently one doesn't just go to the mall for one thing."

"Why do I get the idea that _this_ will be worse than shopping with Peter?" Stiles muses as he dishes up portions of eggs onto the plated toast that Peter holds out for him.

"I feel offense about that," Peter informs him mildly as Chris comes over to start placing the plates on the table and in front of people.

“Don’t be, I’m only joking,” Stiles grins, flipping the last of the eggs and letting it cook a little longer before playing them all, next he starts to add in the bacon.

“You better be, I didn’t spend almost a whole day redoing your wardrobe. Oh wait, I did,” Peter pulls down a mug for himself and starts to make a cup of coffee for himself.

“Hahaha,” Stiles says monotonously, smirking when Peter gives a little growl. “You’re not scary when you look like you just woke up from a whole night of sex.”

Peter preens a little, “It was a wonderful night, thank you for asking.”

Allison scrunches her face up a little at that, her eyes glancing over to the large hickey on her dad’s throat and then turning away.

She does not want to have a peak into her dads sex life. No thank you.

"I wasn't asking," Stiles tells him as he pokes at the bacon, flipping it when he needs to.

"Oh, I know," Peter smirks as he rises his mug to his mouth. "But you'll get used to it."

Stiles points at him with the spatula, "I know the whole public sex thing now! I _know_."

Allison almost chokes on her coffee, swallowing thickly and almost burning her tongue, " _What?_ "

Chris studiously works on making a scrambled egg and toast sandwich, avoiding his daughter's gaze.

"Yeah, get ready to see mom and dad naked and having sex," Stiles informs her as he keeps his gaze on the bacon. "Like a _lot_."

"It's normal," Derek attempts to reassure Allison as she stares at her father in embarrassed horror.

"Like a family dinner," Stiles agrees, and Chris closes his eyes in embarrassment as he feels his face turn red and Allison gives a strangled sound. "Just with nudity, and the menu is sex not food."

"I believe you're making it worse," Peter observes, snickering at the deep red Chris is turning and the embarrassed arousal the older man gives off. "It'll be like when we first got together, Christopher, when you couldn't keep your hands off me and sometimes we didn't make it out to the alleyway, let alone the hotel room."

"You had _sex_ in _public_?" Allison stares at her father in complete disbelief.

"More of in the hallway of a gay club," Peter comes over and pats Allison's shoulder. "It was rather normal for that type of place—in fact, that's the place where I first s—"

_"Peter!"_

_"Mom!"_

"I am still concerned how strangely hot I find the idea of you two having sex," Stiles says as he brings the bacon over and starts placing it onto the plates.

Derek and Allison both give Stiles a glaring look in unison that have the teenager raising his hands in defeat.

“Okay, okay, keeping the comments to myself,” Stiles settles down in his seat at the table, “I am enjoying breakfast.”

Scoffing, Derek takes his seat next to his mate and takes a sip of his own coffee.

Inhaling the scent of warm food, Derek starts to cut into his meal and smiles when he takes the first bite.

“Is there anything else I need to watch out for when it comes to living with werewolves?” Allison ask, as she pulls her plate closer as well.

“Nudity? I mean, not that that’s gonna be a problem since everyone at this table is very good looking,” Stiles looks at Derek directly, giving his boyfriend a wink.

“Yes, Stiles, you’re very handsome,” Derek says back, causing Stiles’ head to duck as his cheeks flush.

"I-I didn't mean me," Stiles stutters as he cuts into his bacon. "I mean, who would want to look at my pasty ass?"

Allison and Derek exchange a look and rolls their eyes.

"I would," Derek says gruffly before stuffing his mouth full of breakfast.

"Jackson would," Allison teases, biting back a smile as Derek growls slightly.

"I hope he won't be so obsessed with the size of my dick today," Stiles grumbles as he takes a bite of his scrambled eggs.

"Why is my other son so obsessed with your dick?" Peter asks curiously as Derek growls and edges his chair closer to Stiles, throwing a possessive arm over Stiles' shoulders.

"I don't know!" Stiles almost throws his hands up in the air. "He keeps going on about if it's seven inches or seven and a half, and then Lydia would chime in with something like, what if it's even _bigger_?"

Chris chokes and resigns himself to never having a peaceful meal again as Peter cocks his head to the side curiously.

"Why do I get the feeling you thought your dick size was average?" Peter asks curiously, a smirk tugging at his lips as Derek huffs and glares at him.

“Uh, because of porn? I mean—those guys are huge,” Stiles makes a vague motion with his hands, “Anyways—um, shit where was I going with this?”

“Nowhere. We are not going anywhere with this conversation anymore,” Chris gives everyone at the table a pointed look, “We’re going to try and have a normal breakfast, please. It’s too early to be talking about dick sizes.”

“Are you feeling inadequate, Christopher?” Peter jeers, leaning in a little to press a kiss to the hickey on Chris’s throat. “I promise you cock size is perfect for getting the job done, and more.”

“Oh my god, _ewwww_ ,” Allison whines, and Derek makes a face in agreement.

“Okay, change of subject, how did the divorce papers go?” Stiles asks Chris, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Besides the cold and underhand remarks Victoria kept making? As well as it can be,” Chris sets his utensils down to take a sip of his coffee. “Thankfully, Kate wasn’t there. But I’m not sure if I feel safer with her in the room or unsure where she’s at and what she’s up too.”

"The fact you don't know where she is at? Probably a bad idea," Stiles points out as he takes a second bite from his breakfast sandwich. "I mean, she's crazy and all that. I'd feel better if we actually know what she gets up too."

"I feel the same," Peter agrees as he takes a sip of his coffee. "I should probably take my files of the fire and such to Noah, see if that helps."

"I should probably talk with him too," Chris grimaces slightly.

It went against everything he had been taught, every instinct beaten into his body, to go to the police and willing spill family secrets. But they aren't _his_ family secrets, not any more, not when his family is around this table.

"So, that's you two sorted for today, what about you, Der?" Stiles turns to look at Derek expectantly, patiently, and Derek stills slightly as he tries to think of something.

"I'm going to call New York," he finally blurts, remembering the idle thought from last night. "Get my—our—things from New York shipped here."

Stiles' face softens as he reaches out and holds his hand, rubbing against Derek's knuckles with his thumb.

"You going to joy us after school at the mall or should we get a lift from Jackson?" Stiles asks, and Derek tightens his hold on Stiles' hand.

"I'll come with you," Derek says, his throat tightening slightly at the thought of going out in public as Stiles' boyfriend.

His wolf wants to preen, wants to show off how perfect Stiles is and how lucky Derek is to have him, but part of him shies away from it, from having eyes on them and whispering about them.

 _It’s fine, I can handle this,_ Derek says to himself, glancing over at his mate’s face, something going soft inside of him as he sees the gentle look on Stiles’ face.

When they finish up breakfast, Derek stays behind to do the dishes since Peter and Chris will be dropping them off.

And he doesn’t want to get stuck in the back of the car, especially at the police station.

It was bad enough when he was stuck in there, ashes covering his face and tears streaming down his cheeks from the death of his family.

It got worse when he came back and was arrested for false accounts of murder, and the way everyone suddenly turned cold on him.

The looks of fear and accusations thrown at him, everyone suddenly believed he was a stone cold killer because two boys dug up the half missing body of his sister.

And when he tried to explain that he was burying his sisters body, the police hadn’t even given him the chance to open his mouth.

They saw him, hard look on his face, a cold loner, just came back to town and they slapped down the label on him that he was the killer. No if’s or buts.

But that’s just the way the justice system works now a days, it’s as broken as the hunters code. And it makes Derek grit his teeth.

“I’ll see you after school, Der,” Stiles leans in, waiting for the permission to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek.

A small smile curls its way onto Derek’s face, as he leans in and accepts the kiss from his mate, turning his head to watch the rest of them leave, leaving him alone in the apartment.

* * *

Derek takes his time washing the dishes and the pans, drying them thoroughly before putting them away as he tries to ready himself for calling New York.

He needed to call his boss at the bar, explain why he had to abruptly leave and why he wasn't coming back, that the bar needs to look for a new bartender.

Derek's stomach threatens to rebel when he realises he either needs to change his number or let his _regulars_ know that he left New York if he didn't want them to blow up his phone with calls and texts, and a cold sweat breaks down his back as he imagines Stiles picking up his phone and reading the lewd texts they often texted him or picking up one of those phone calls that send shivers of disgust down his spine.

Derek finds himself leaning against the sink counter with his head almost between his legs as he takes deep breaths and tries to keep the breakfast Stiles made him down.

He can't let Stiles know, he can never let Stiles know just what type of fucked up _whore_ Derek is.

There's an itch to his skin, a need to scrub and scrub until his skins bleeding and _finally_ clean from their touches, but Derek pushes back the urge for now as he knows it'll be a lot worse before he's finished with the calls.

He'll need to get one of Laura's friends or a company or something to pack up their apartment and ship the boxes down to him.

He grimaces at the idea of having to break the news of Laura's death to one of her friends, to tell them he doesn't know when they are going to have a funeral as Laura's still stuck in a metal draw.

He supposes there's one good thing of Laura being dug up, _again_ , she can be laid to rest properly with the rest of the family.

“God damnit,” Derek curses, feeling his claws slowly slip out of his fingernail beds as he holds back the urge to go feral and run into the woods.

Huffing, and concentrating on a picture of his mate, Derek finds himself pulling the shift back until he’s not shifted anymore.

He takes another moment to catch his breath before he makes his way back to his room, stopping in the studying to grab Peter’s laptop so he can work on a few things while he sends some texts out.

He’ll take a shower after he’s finished everything, let the freezing water wash away his filth.

Derek’s glad that Stiles spent the night last night, because having the room and bed smell completely of his mate’s scent help to calm his grating nerves.

Opening the laptop and punching in the password, Derek picks up his phone and cringed when he sees a few texts from his old _clients_ asking where he’s been.

Biting on his bottom lip, Derek takes a moment to breath before send a message to all his _clients_ he won’t be seeing them anymore, and then blocking their numbers after it’s been sent, just in case any of them get angry.

When that’s done, he scrolls down to his boss’s phone number and sends him a text apologizing for his missed days, and then explaining he won’t be coming back to work due to his sister’s death, and the fact his uncle woke up from coma.

Derek places the phone beside him and reaches for Stiles' pillow, hugging it tightly to his chest and burying his nose against it as he calms himself down.

He'll need to delete those texts, needs to delete _all_ those texts before Stiles gets a chance to ever see them.

Stiles' can't _ever_ know what Derek used to do.

Derek doesn't think he could cope if Stiles knew what a _whore_ Derek really was, didn't think he could cope if Stiles looked at him in disgust and cringed away from his touch before trying to pretend that Derek doesn't disgust him.

He didn't think he could cope if Stiles reacted like Laura did.

His phone rings and startles him from his spiralling thoughts, and his boss' name glares at him, Derek answers and holds it to his ear.

"He—"

"What the _fuck_?" a smokey and rough voice demands in his ear. "What the actual fuck? Did your life turn into a fucking soap opera without warning?"

"Hey Benny," Derek greets, and Benny scoffs.

"'Hey Benny,'" he mocks with another scoff. " _That's_ all you are going to fucking say after that shit text? I mean, really? Really, Derek? A _text_? What the fuck? 'Hey Benny, I won't be coming back to work because my sister has died, sorry about leaving with no warning', what the fuck, Derek?! Your sister died and you're _sorry_ about leaving without warning? Shit, and you know what I fucking love? 'and my uncle just woke up from a coma, so I'll be staying here.' Like a fucking after fact!"

"I—"

"A soap opera! A fucking soap opera!! That's what your life has turned into!" Benny continues without letting Derek to finish. "What's next? A long lost sibling that you never knew about? An old lover turns out to be a crazy killer? Your uncle isn't really your uncle? Shit, kid, please tell me none of that has happened yet."

Derek's tellingly silent.

"You're fucking kidding me," Benny says flatly. "I was only shitting you, fuck. Which one is it? Don't say all because that's just too much soap opera bullshit."

“Um....my ex is a serial killer?”

“Is that a question mark at the end? Because Derek, _what the fuck_. Is she, or is she not a killer?”

“She—“ Derek feels his throat squeeze itself as the words get trapped in his throat, “I—Uh, she did—“

“Derek— _Jesus Christ_ , kiddo. You know what, never mind, take as long as you want off—wait, I mean. Don’t come back because obviously you gotta deal with your sister and uncle. But for Christ’s sake—no, for my sake—at least promise me your gonna get some therapy.”

Derek nods his head silently, “Yeah, my m—Peter is helping me get with a therapist. And uh-we’re talking with the sheriff about my...ex.”

"Good," Benny says gruffly. "Now, I suppose you want your shit from your apartment."

"Benny—"

"I'll deal with it," Benny tells him firmly. "Save you spending too much damn money on some bastards that'll throw your shit around and not care if they break something. And I doubt you want to deal with all the tears and bullshit if you called one your sister's friends."

"Thank you," Derek tells him, feeling relief settle over him.

Benny makes a disgusted noise, "Don't get sappy on me, kid, you know I hate all that feelings bullshit."

"You need a key," Derek realises and Benny scoffs.

"You gave me a key, remember?" Benny reminds him. "Normally it's to make sure the drunken assholes I call my bartenders get home safe and fucking sound, but I've never had to use it for you, well, until now I suppose. Now, do you want me to send all the shit or do you want me to store some of it for when you come back?"

Derek swallows and licks at his dry lips, "I don't think I'm going to come back."

Benny's silent for a moment before he grunts almost to himself.

"Suppose I can't blame you," Benny says grudgingly. "I'll send all your shit then, but damn it, kid, you come and visit me when you get your head together. Just, just leave that soap opera shit behind, okay?"

"I will," Derek promises, his throat tight, and Benny grunts in something like approval.

"Good," Benny says. "Now before this gets more sappy and shit, I have things to do, boxes to pack. Don't be a fucking stranger, okay? I looked after your broody ass for three years, you're basically family, kiddo, and I can't believe you fucking made me say that shit out loud. Text or call, hell, I'll even deal with emails for you."

"Thanks, Benny," Derek says almost thickly. "I-I'll miss you."

There's a moment where Derek's sure Benny is debating just hanging up before Benny answers almost reluctantly.

"Miss you too, kid," Benny says. "Bye."

"Bye," Derek manages before Benny hangs up.

Scrubbing at his face, Derek sighs with having one thing finished on his list of shit to do.

Looking at the computer screen he typed in his password to login to the college courses and check on what his application status is, hoping Stiles is having a better day than he is so far.

Bringing the pillow up to his nose, Derek inhales the scent his mate left behind and whines as he misses Stiles being in his arms.

It’s a little pathetic he won’t lie, but he already misses having Stiles next to him in bed.

He blushes a little when he realizes he’s gotten hard from just Stiles’ scent and decides to ignore it for the moment. He still needs to finish things before he can try and doing anything...fun.

Sighing, he scrubs at his face before turning to look back at his laptop.

It was nice and new, and he really had to give his mother a hug for how much he spoiled his pup.

Picking up his new phone, Derek punches in the important numbers he plans on keeping, and adds a star next to Stiles, Peter’s and Allison so he has them on call. 

He squints at Chris’s phone number for a while before rolling his eyes and then adding another star.

“God, I hope Stiles is having a better day,” Derek grumbles.

* * *

"You almost forgot these," Peter opens the car door and holds out both bento-style lunch boxes to them.

Allison eagerly takes her and starts moving stuff in her bag to make room for it while Stiles takes his with a squinted stare at Peter.

"You so didn't have time to make us lunch this morning," Stiles says in a vaguely accusing tone, and Peter smirks at him.

"It's called preparing it the night before, Stiles," Peter informs him. "Now you two have fun, be good, and Stiles? Please don't snap and pull your dick out due to the frustration of Jackson's continued questions about it."

"Peter," Chris groans as he grips the wheel tightly, and Stiles splutters as he hugs his lunch box defensively as he stares, red-faced, at Peter.

"Werewolves," Stiles finally says as he turns on his heel and marches towards the doors with a giggling Allison at his side.

Stiles didn't even have to look back to know Peter is cackling like a mad man as he closes the car door. He's probably still cackling as Chris pulls out of the car park.

"We will never speak of that again," Stiles tells Allison firmly, and Allison leans against his shoulder as she giggles. "Never again."

Lydia eyes him suspiciously as she takes in Stiles' stubbornly red cheeks and Allison's slightly evil giggles, and gives a hum on interest that vaguely terrifies him.

"What did we miss?" Jackson asks as he pushes off the wall, and Allison opens her mouth only for Stiles to put his hand over it.

"Never," Stiles reminds Allison, and she bursts into new and now muffled giggles against his palm.

"Interesting," Lydia muses, tapping one finger against her glossed lower lip.

Stiles almost absently notices that Lydia's perfectly done nails have been cut short and redone in a glossy pale pink shade since yesterday.

Huffing, Stiles crosses his arms to give Allison one last look before turning to focus his eyes on the two people in front of him.

“You didn’t miss much, mostly just some family drama, moving into the room Derek made for the both of us oh and the fact I accidentally set the couch on fire,” Stiles shrugs it off.

“Derek has a room for the both of you?”

Stiles balks at that, “That’s what you just got from that sentence? Not the fact that I set the couch on fire?!”

Lydia waves him off, “We can discuss couches and fires later, let’s talk about the fact that—“

“Stiles.”

All four heads to turn to stare at Scott’s face, and Stiles feels his heart fall at the sight of his best friend.

The teenager looks like he’s seen a ghost, bags under his eyes and hair a mess like he’s been clawing at it.

“What do you want, McCall?” Jackson sneers.

“I-I just wanted to talk with Stiles. Alone, please,” Scott crosses his arms over his chest, but the posture doesn’t look defensive, it looks scared.

"No—" Jackson begins to snarl, but Stiles takes a step forward.

"Sure," Stiles answers, staring at Scott worriedly.

"Just like a battered partner, I swear," Lydia hisses almost to herself.

"Stiles," Allison touches Stiles' shoulder, looking torn between concerned for Scott and wary at the idea of letting Stiles go off alone with him.

Scott's eyes flare gold for a moment before the teen is slamming them closed and turning away from them.

"Please," Scott repeats through gritted teeth.

"Because _that's_ reassuring," Jackson scoffs as he hovers behind Stiles, looking tempted to push the other boy behind him.

"Guys, I'll be fine," Stiles insists, watching Scott with increasing concern. "Go on to class, I'll be there before the second bell."

Jackson looks reluctant, opening his mouth to argue, but Lydia touches his shoulder and shakes her head with pursed lips.

"Allison will have her finger hovering over Peter's name," Lydia informs the both of them, shooting a glare at Scott. "I'm sure he'll enjoy putting you in place if you harm Stiles again."

Instead of puffing up or getting angry, Scott hunches in his shoulders and looks away with something akin to shame.

"The threat has been heard and received," Stiles says as he squeezes Allison's wrist reassuringly. "Now go."

Scott begins to walk away, heading towards the bike stands, and Stiles is quick on his heels despite Jackson's continued grumbles.

"What is it?" Stiles asks when Scott stops just passed the stands and away from the students streaming into the school, and Scott opens his mouth before closing it. "Scott?"

"I-I think you were right," Scott almost stutters as he speaks, looking pained at having to say those words, and Stiles resists the urge to give him a look and ask him a flat and unimpressed 'Really?'. "I-I think I attacked something other night."

Stiles' mind immediately flashes back to yesterday, about the animal attack his dad told him about.

“What? Scott, no that was an animal attack. I promise it wasn’t you,” Stiles shakes his head, lifting a hand to put it on Scott’s shoulder.

His friend shakes his head, “No, no—Stiles, it was on the news this morning. Two people were dead, the news said it was the same mountain lion that killed them. But Stiles, it was me! I killed them.”

Glancing around to make sure no one is around, Stiles looks back at Scott who’s staring down at his hands.

“Scott?”

“I woke up with blood on my hands and mouth this morning, my bed was covered in blood. Dude, I really fucked up. I-I need your help, please. Ī don’t know what the fuck is going on anymore,” Scott stares to tear up, sniffing as his breathing gets eradicated.

“Oh—woah, woah. Hey Scott, I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? That’s good. Just another few, good, good,” Stiles says, trying to pull Scott down from having a panic attack.

Scott’s breathing sounds rough and hoarse like it did when he had asthma, and it makes Stiles immediately pull out the inhaler in his backpack.

“Here you go. There ya go, see we’re good. You’re good, Scotty,” Stiles pats the werewolf’s shoulder.

"I was having an asthma attack?" Scott questions after he lowers his inhaler and stares at it in confusion. "But I thought I didn't have asthma anymore."

"No, you were having a panic attack," Stiles tells him making Scott look at him in increasing confusion. "But the thought you were having an asthma attack stopped it."

"Panic attacks?" Scott asks as he hands over the inhaler, and Stiles tucks in back in his backpack.

"Yeah, I used to get really bad ones after my mom died," Stiles says in an off handed manner. "Okay, now you are calmer, I need you to know that I don't believe you've killed anyone."

"But the blood!" Scott hisses, and Stiles grimaces.

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds bad, but Scott? Your eyes, they are still gold," Stiles explains and Scott cocks his head to the side in confusion, looking like a confused puppy.

"Why does that matter?" Scott questioned, and Stiles inhales deeply as he tries to keep calm.

"You really never read any of the research I've sent you, have you?" Stiles pinches at his nose before shaking his head. "Blue eyes are a signal of guilt, often linked to killing someone."

"So, Derek _is_ a murderer!" Scott says with something close to triumphant in his voice, and Stiles hits him.

"No, you complete and utter asshole," Stiles snarls at him. "It means he just feels guilty about the death of someone, for fuck sake's Scott, stop being an asshole for like a minute, okay?"

“Sorry,” Scott looks down again and Stiles is thrown off with how quickly the guy pulls away.

Licking his lips, Stiles runs a hand over his buzzcut and makes a small face as he feels how long it’s gotten.

“Okay, I’ll talk to the Alpha about this stuff, maybe we can have you come over to work on your anchor. Because obviously yours isn’t working anymore,” Stiles suggests, “And before you go against it because I see that look on your face. Just try and give it a chance.”

“Fine,” Scott grumbles, although it’s less lacklustre than it was before, “But I’m not going to like it.”

“I’m just glad you’re giving it a chance.”

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" there's something akin to a sulky toddler in Scott's voice as he crosses his arms over his chest, and part of Stiles wants to just shake him because he's stills being so freaking difficult about this. "I'm not joining the Pack."

"Dude, you may have too," Stiles points out without mentioning that Derek and Peter didn't really want him in the Pack, and Scott's jaw clenches in the familiar stubborn way that makes Stiles want to punch him right in his uneven jaw. "Just keep that in mind, alright?"

"Fine," Scott huffs, obviously going to do no such thing, and Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Let's get to class before the bell rings, okay?" Stiles asks, already done with his friend for the day, and turns to go.

But of course, Scott isn't done, not when there's a lot more pressing issue than the possibility of him losing control and attacking people.

"What's going on with Allison?" Scott demands. "What does Peter want with her? Why does she smell so much of Derek? I thought he was meant to be your _boyfriend_ , why is he going after _my_ girlfriend?"

Stiles stares longingly at the doors to the relative safety of school.

“Derek and Allison are siblings,” Stiles tries to explain softly.

_“WHAT!?”_

Stiles shushes him, putting a hand over Scott’s mouth and glaring, “Dude, who are you trying to tell for? The whole school?”

“Sorry,” he hears Scott mumble against his hand.

“They aren’t blood related but they’re basically siblings because Chris and Peter got together, and you know what—it’s kind of a long story. And I don’t feel like explaining the soap opera my life has become.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Dude, you weren’t even the one who got bite and your life is crazier than mine,” Scott grins a little.

“God, tell me about it. And I still haven’t had my bisexual awakening freak out yet. Although Jackson and Derek surely aren’t helping,” Stiles chuckles.

Scott frowns, lifting a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, “Stiles, I’m so sorry about the way I acted. And I can’t throw the blame on the whole werewolf stuff, cause that was all me. And I’m really sorry for hitting your head against the wall.”

“Huh, that is...weirdly mature of you to say,” Stiles raises an eyebrow, “Did Melissa talk to you?”

Scott shuffles slightly, "No?"

"So, she did," Stiles nods to himself.

"Well, yeah, but I am still sorry," Scott looks at him hopefully, and Stiles gives a big sigh.

"Alright," Stiles pretends to be all reluctant, "come here."

Stiles opens his arms wide, pretending to look slightly put out, and Scott grins as he almost throws himself at his friend, curling his arms around Stiles and bringing him close.

The whining wolf thing in his head almost immediately relaxes as Scott sniffs at Stiles and nuzzles against him, trying to cover the smell of Derek and Peter, and for the first time in days, Scott feels almost relaxed.

Then it feels like a flip has been flipped in his head, a whine of _Alpha_ echoing in his mind, and Scott almost face-plants into Stiles' neck with a whine.

"Holy shit," Stiles stumbles, trying to keep them upright as Scott keeps nuzzling against his neck and whining. "Hey, buddy? Back of the Stiles a bit, yeah? Some of us aren't super strong all the time. Are you whining? Why are you whining?! Did you get hurt? Come on, man, let up a little!"

Stiles sighs as Scott seems to hug him _tighter_ , and he pats at his friend's back as the first bell goes.

 _Somehow, I don't think I will be making the second bell_ , Stiles muses as Scott tries to melt and become one with him.

"Werewolves are so damn weird," Stiles grumbles, and Scott nods into his neck. "You are a werewolf, your agreement doesn't count!"

Sighing like he’s annoyed with Scott’s behaviour, but is only lying to himself.

Running his fingers through Scott’s shaggy hair, Stiles snorts as he best friend purrs in his arms.

“You’re so weird,” Stiles huffs, “Come on, wolf boy, we still need to get to class. I can’t fail because someone has been missing out on best friend cuddles.”

“No. Stay,” Scott growls.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles gently pushes Scott off of him, ignoring the puppy eyes Scott is giving him.

“No,” he points a finger at him, “We need to go to class. No buts or ifs.”

“But—“

“Class. I’ll talk to you later.”

The whine Scott gives off is very canine, and Stiles shakes his head in disbelief.

"It's like being surrounded by puppies," he mutters as he adjusts his bag and heads to school, a sulky Scott on his heels. "I need to invest in a spray-bottle or a rolled up newspaper."

Scott whines again and leans forward to hug Stiles, tucking his nose back against Stiles' neck as he stumbles and follows Stiles.

"No," Stiles refuses, this is him refusing. "Werewolf cuddling sessions cannot and will not be held during school, please reschedule for a later time."

"No," comes the sulky reply from the teenage werewolf attached to him like an overly affectionate leech.

"Off! Off! Off!" Stiles says as he keeps hitting Scott's stomach with his elbows—which Stiles knows are very pointy and his dad once attempt to class them as weapons in their own right. "Off! Off! Off!"

"McCall, Bilinski! Class is about to start!" a familiar voice calls down the hall and then Coach is in front of them and giving a look to where Scott is still attached to him. "Do I want to know?"

"Trust me, you would not believe me," Stiles tells Finstock honestly, and he barks out a laugh.

"I went to school with both your mother and Peter Hale," Finstock informs Stiles. "You'd be surprised what I would believe. Now get your asses to class or I'll be making you run on those skinny toothpicks you dare call legs until you puke! And I mean the both of you, McCall!"

"Yes, Coach!"

Stiles stumbles and curses his hurried way to class with the leech-wolf that is Scott on his back.

* * *

Stepping into the police station, Peter gives a smile to the woman at the front desk.

“I’m here to see Sheriff Stilinski, it’s about a private affair,” He tells her politely.

“He should be in his office right now,” The woman—Tara— smiles at him.

“Thank you, dear,” Turning and waking to the office with Chris following behind him, Peter gives a light knock on the door before entering.

He pauses when he sees Noah in the room with another man in there, young and still a little baby faced, with dark brown hair and a face that reminds Peter of someone he knows.

“Am I interrupting something? I can come back a later time,” Peter is ready to walk back out but then Noah is holding a hand up to stop him.

“No, I was about to call you here. So you might as well stay,” He motions to the man, “Peter, Chris I’d like you to meet Jordon Parrish. My....my other _son_.”

_Oh, that explains some things._

Peter scratches at his chin, his eyes turning to look back at Jordon as he gives a curious sniff.

The man certainly smells like Stilinski blood, as well as something else. Like ash but without the fire.

“Stiles is going to be over the moon at finding out he has an older brother,” Peter states, taking a seat at one of the chairs in front of Noah’s desk.

“I have a baby brother?” Jordan’s face seems to light up at this.

"Oh, you are adorable," Peter informs the younger man as Chris sits beside him with a sigh that makes Peter turn to him with a smirk. "Don't worry, my love, you still hold my heart."

Chris flushes slightly as Noah leans back against his desk with his arms crossed.

"Well, I can see you two worked things out," Noah says dryly before pinning Peter with a look. "No flirting with my son."

There's something heartbreakingly fragile in the joy that flitters over Jordan's face, the slight blush and the duck to his head as Noah claims him as his son.

So, a newly discovered son and not a son Noah simply neglected to inform Claudia about. Claudia would have told Peter if she had a step-son, would have thrown herself into being the best step-mom possible to Jordan.

"This seems to be a week for family reunions," Peter muses making Noah roll his eyes. "You said you were about to call? I doubt it was solely to introduce me to your newly discovered son."

Noah's face turns serious as he twists to grab a file from his desk, "Two men were found last night, killed by an apparent animal attack."

"And you want to know where I was," Peter finishes as he takes the file and flip it open to view the two mug-shot photos of the victims. "Ah, I understand why now. They were on my list."

"Your list?" Noah looks like he really doesn't want to know while Jordan stands there uncertainly, standing in a relaxed military stance.

"Yes," Peter confirms as he hands the file back before flipping open his leather messenger bag—stylish enough to never truly go out of style and expertly made—before pulling out the fat file he had stuffed in there and handing it over to Noah. "Everything I've put together about the Fire, those responsible and more importantly, Kate Argent."

"Did you leave me anything to do myself?" Noah asks dryly as he takes the fat file and flips it open.

"Yes, arrest them of course," Peter says cheekily making both Noah and Chris to roll their eyes.

Noah rubs at his forehead as he takes the file, glancing over it right now as he plans on giving it a closer looks later.

Everything is detailed to the point where he wouldn’t even have to bring the case to court, it’s all right there. And on top of that, there’s a smaller folder that includes Kate and her list of crimes from murder, arson, faking her ID, and then to raping of a minor.

There’s a photo attached at the bottom with a picture of a thirteen year old Derek smiling at the camera, and the sight of that innocent smile now destroyed makes Noah burn with hatred.

He flips the page and stares in horror when he sees pages of other young boys who Kate had raped in her demented way to kill werewolves.

“These are...” He doesn’t even want to say it.

“Yes,” A cold look crosses over Peter’s face, “All of them, from when she started and to the last one.

I’m hoping we can push for a death penalty but seeing as that’ll take too long, I suppose life in prison will work best.

Although it pains me to think of her still being alive, she may be in prison but who’s to say Gerard won’t try to weasel something out?

Perhaps I should—“

“I know you would rather kill her than let her take another breath of air, but something tells me if we cut off one head of this snake two more are going to grow back,” Noah cuts in, giving Peter a sincere look.

Peter's jaw clenches, but he nods shortly as he leans back in his chair.

"If you give me a notebook or something, I can write down everything I know about how my family covers things up and who Gerard has on the payroll," Chris says, feeling like a coward for not wanting to look all Kate's crimes written out in Peter's neat hand.

Noah closes the file and places it on his desk before grabbing his legal-pad and handing it and a pen over to Chris.

Chris nods his thanks and then begins the time-consuming job of writing down _everything._

What Chris is doing is worst then sleeping with a werewolf, it was a betrayal of everything, and Chris knew with every secret he writes down, every name, he's gutting the empire of blood and death his family had built here.

Peter's gaze flicks over to Jordan curiously, "Is there a reason you have allowed your son to stay?"

"He's my newest Deputy," Noah explains, "and the only one that has no history with either side."

"A fresh pair of eyes and someone will little bias," Peter muses with approval as he nods. "Since he is also your son, will he be brought into the reality of this town?"

Noah's mouth purses slightly as he glances to Jordan, there's more than a spark of curiosity in those blue-eyes of his, and then he looks back to Peter and nods.

"I will leave that in your hands," Peter graciously says making Noah roll his eyes a little. "I'll be stealing Stiles away this weekend, Jackson has decided to become more like Derek and myself."

Noah's eyes narrowed, "I suppose you haven't spoken to the Whittemore's about this?"

"My dear Noah, I haven't spoken to them at _all_ ," Peter tells him before pursing his lips slightly. "I don't know what I would say to them. 'Hello, you may remember me, I'm Peter Hale, you adopted my son without my knowledge almost seventeen years ago, can I come in for a mug of coffee?' Somehow I don't think that will go down well."

"Well, if you say things like that," Noah says dryly.

Sighing, Noah leans back in his seat and looks up at his son—well, other son—a son he didn’t even know that existed until now.

Jesus, there better not be a mysterious daughter that pops up out of nowhere or he’s going to send himself to an early grave.

“So, I’m guessing you’re probably wondering what this is all about. You may want to sit down for this, because what I’m about to tell you is going to be a hard pill to swallow,” Noah motions to the only empty seat left.

“If it’s about the werewolf thing, I already know, sir,” Jordan says without missing a beat.

Peter turns his head to give the young man a raised eyebrow, “Well, I guess being smart really does run in the Stilinski family.”

“How in the hell did you know that?”

Jordan looks remotely sheepish under the incredulous eyes of his father while Peter watches with curious amusement.

"Err, when I was in Afghanistan, I was kind of blown up?" Jordan turns his statement into a question as Noah pales as he watches the son he almost never knew.

"So, the fire thing isn't just a Stiles thing," Peter muses, and Noah turns to look at Peter.

"What fire thing?" Noah demands, feeling slightly faint, and Peter waves a hand.

"It's fine," Peter attempts in a reassuring tone. "The couch is only slightly charred."

Noah gives a strangled noise as Chris snorts.

"What the hell were you two doing that ended up with one of your couches charred?" Noah demands. "You have _leather_ couches!"

"You know, magic training, the usual," Peter dismisses before turning back to an incredulous Jordan. "You were saying before your father became unreasonable?"

_"Unreasonable?"_

"Peter," Chris chides without looking up, and Peter pouts slightly.

"My brother does _magic_?" Jordan asks, looking somewhat shell-shocked.

Peter does a so-so motion of his hand, "He's still training at the moment. It's rather hit or miss, thus the charred couch."

Jordan looks like he has questions, _lots_ of questions, but he dutiful picks up his story.

"I was an EOD technician," Jordan explains to them. "I can't remember if we diffused a bomb incorrectly or we missed one, I can't really remember much apart from the noise and the searing heat.

Next thing I know, I'm waking up like a month later, and I'm in one piece. Hell, there's barely a mark on me," Jordan runs a hand over his short hair. "I shouldn't have been alive, let alone in one piece. It was basically a miracle, or at least that's how my mother saw it."

"I don't believe in miracles," Peter says as he leans forward, his blue-eyes intent and curious. "And I don't believe you think it was one, no matter what you believe when it comes to God and all that rot. So, that leaves me with one question. _What_ are you?"

“That I have yet to figure out. But it’s got to do with something because of this place, Beacon Hills. I didn’t even know about the existence of my biological dad until I woke up, and I just kept having this weird knowledge that I needed to come here,” Jordon motions with his hand, something similar to what Stiles usually does when he’s explaining things. “And when I asked my mom she told me about my biological dad, which is nice to know. But uh...I really thought you would have had some answers.”

Noah scratches at the top of his head, “I’m sorry to say, son, but I didn’t come into this supernatural stuff until recently. And that was after my son turned out to a wizard or something, and also men can get pregnant.”

Jordan laughs at that, and then pauses when no one else laughs.

“Oh, you’re serious about that,” he straightens and clears his throat.

“Oh, you have so much to learn. But I guess you’re here, we can catch you up on some stuff. By the way, yes, some men can get pregnant so you might want to make sure a condom is involved,” Peter smirks, “And this is speaking form experience, after all I did carry around a baby werewolf for nine months.”

“You—I am so sorry, I meant no offense earlier when I—“

“None taken,” Peter holds his hand up to stop the man before he makes a fool of himself.

 _He is definitely Stiles' brother_ , Peter thinks with amusement as Jordan shifts somewhat awkwardly.

"Is there anything else you wanted to share?" Noah asks Peter, glancing over to Chris and almost doing a double-take at the amount of pages he's already filled with clear handwriting.

 _I'm going to have a real big headache until this is over_ , Noah thinks as he scrubs a hand over his mouth.

"Malia," Peter says as he pulls out her file, tapping his fingers against it as he remembers the photo attached of a smiling brown-eyed and dark haired little girl, she was missing her front two baby teeth and had been exposing the gum proudly in the photo.

 _She has my curls_ , Peter remembers, his throating tightening as he thinks of the uncertain fate of his little girl.

Noah's face softens as he circles behind his desk and takes a seat, pulling close to his desk and leaning his elbows on a clear spot on the file-filled surface and lacing his fingers together.

"What have you spotted?" Noah asks as Jordan glances around and pulls up the last free chair.

"Coyotes don't come this close to town," Peter points out as he glances down at the brown file on his lap. "The scent of werewolves have always deterred them away from here."

"We found evidence of coyotes," Noah frowns and Peter nods.

"Malia's biological mother, Corrine, is a werecoyote," Peter explains with a grimace, vividly remembering the rather violent sexual relationship he had with the woman for three _long_ weeks.

Peter had been in a bad place when he met Corrine, what with Derek being raised as Talia's son, Robert _not_ stopping until Peter almost began to feel resigned to it, and then the gaping hole where the knowledge of Maggie and their pup used to be.

Well, it wasn't a surprise that Peter fell into a mostly sexual relationship with Corrine despite how violent she could be during sex and how often she reminded him of Robert.

It made Peter _feel_ something other than numb for a while and he _needed_ that, no matter how unhealthy it was.

“So what your telling me is that your daughter, who has been possible dead for years, is possibly a feral coyote?” Noah tried to summarize.

“Yes. I’m glad you’re picking up these pieces so quickly,” Peter grins, “Anyways, what I’m saying is that I’ll probably investigate around the Preserve and see if I can find her. And maybe help her back to...humanity? While also avoiding hunters.”

“I could come and help,” Jordan perks up a little, and Peter can only compare this man to a giant puppy.

“That would be nice, but I feel like the Stilinski family is going to want a moment to reconnect with each other,” Peter suggest.

“Oh, right,” Jordan scratches at the back of his neck. Then looks to Noah, “When does school get out? We could go for a late lunch? Or early dinner, I’ll pay.”

Noah points at him, “Whatever Stiles says about my diet, he’s lying. I am going to order a double bacon burger if it’s the last thing I do.”

Peter snorts before grimacing slightly, "Stiles has already made plans to go to the mall this afternoon with the others."

"He's willingly stepping foot in the mall again after shopping with you?" Noah asks in disbelief, and Peter pouts.

"I am not _that_ bad," Peter protests and gets twin snorts from Chris and Noah making him pout harder as he turns to Chris. "And here I was going to suck your cock until you can no longer cum while the kids are out."

Chris chokes as he looks up with a blush, Jordan clears his throat as he looks away and Noah just sighs, resigned by Peter.

 _"Peter!"_ Chris glances slightly panicked and very embarrassed at Noah, and Peter waves his hand.

"Oh, Noah heard a lot _worse_ than _that_ ," Peter dismisses with a smirk. "Claudia enjoyed hearing _all_ of my naughty stories."

Chris scowls, the smell of jealousy making Peter smirk as he foresees a hard and possessive fucking when they get home.

"I don't want to take him away from his friends," Jordan says, deciding the best course of action is to ignore Peter's words. "And this means I could perhaps cook for you two?"

There's something very hopeful in Jordan's expression that makes Noah soften slightly, but he does squint somewhat suspiciously at his oldest son.

"With real meat?" Noah questions with deep seated suspicion, Stiles had always tried to fake him out with tofu, other fake meat or choosing the healthier and less meaty cuts of meat to serve if Stiles couldn't find a good vegetarian version of the meal.

"Yes?" Jordan says, looking confused about why that would be a question, and Noah almost beams.

"Then I'll be happy to eat your cooking," Noah says, almost wanting to hug Jordan as at least one of his sons won't try and keep him on rabbit food.

Peter snorts at the almost overwhelming joy Noah is giving off at the thought of _real_ meat.

"I'll inform Derek to drop Stiles at your place when they are done at the mall then," Peter says with amusement clear in his voice.

“Sounds good,” Noah smiles at them both.

“Does Stiles have a preferred dish he likes?” Jordon ask.

“That boy will eat anything, but he’s not here to make decisions. And I’m deciding we’re having burgers tonight,” Noah says simply.

Peter glances between both men and smiles, happy that the Stilinski’s have added another one to the batch.

If there’s one thing he knew about Stiles and Noah, it was that to them family and family bonds were the most important thing to them. To the point where they were unquestionably loyal.

“Well, I’m glad to see there isn’t any family angst going on. Let’s just hope that Stiles doesn’t get upset about the discovery of a brother he never knew he had,” Peter scratches at his chin.

Jordon’s smile drops at that, and he looks at Noah, “Will he be upset?”

"Stiles has become quite used to learning about unexpected family members," Peter says mildly. "Though it will be the first time it's a member of _his_ family."

"He won't be upset with you," Noah reassures Jordan before grimacing. "He's going to be upset with me, pointing out all the times I talked about safe sex and how I obviously didn't do what I preach."

"Yes," Peter snorts as Jordan relaxes some. "That sounds like Stiles."

Noah groans, knowing he's going to end up finding boxes of condoms in random places as Stiles' 'subtle' reminder to have safe sex.

"I want him to like me," Jordan admits as he glances down to his clasped hands, and Noah softens as he stands and places a hand on Jordan's shoulder.

"He'll love you," Noah tells him softly. "You're family."

Jordan smiles, still somewhat worried.

Peter slips Malia's file back in his bag before glancing over at Chris, "Are you finished yet?"

Chris grimaces as he stretches out of his hand and glances over what he wrote, "For Beacon Hills and its surrounding area? Yeah, I didn't think I should cross state lines as you would have to bring the FBI in."

"No, I'd like to hold off on them for a while," Noah grimaces, wanting to put off having Rafael back in town as long as possible. "But that reminds me."

Noah turns back to Peter and the younger man raises an eyebrow in question.

"We need to tell Melissa about Scott," Noah says firmly making Peter raise his other brow. "She needs to know what she's dealing with, she's a single mother and as far as she knows? He's just going through some normal teenage rebellion, and I worry she could get hurt if she pushes too hard.

Scott isn't part of your Pack, he doesn't have you watching out for him like you do with Derek and Stiles, and will do with Jackson.

All he has is a very worried and human mother, and I don't want Melissa to get hurt because she doesn't have all the facts."

Peter leans back in his chair as he thinks it over with a thoughtful frown.

“You know, you’re probably right. Sooner or later, she’s going to find out and it might be better to learn it while in a controlled environment than an unexpected one,” Peter nods his head, “If you want we can plan to meet with her tomorrow, and talk about everything.”

“Sounds good to me,” Noah nods his head, “If we’re done here, I still need to get back to my job.”

“Of course,” Peter grins as he stands up, “Thank you for your time, Sheriff.”

Noah rolls his eyes, “We’re practically family, Peter, you can call me by my first name.”

"Very well, Noah," Peter smiles as he nods his head while Chris stands and hands over the legal-pad and pen to Noah. "I'll see you earlier tomorrow then, Derek and I have a lunch appointment."

Followed by the possibility of some evil entity somewhere on his land to deal with, Peter doesn't add.

Noah's face briefly creases with confusion before he nods as he remembers Peter and Derek's decision to enter in therapy.

"See you tomorrow, Peter," Noah says as Chris slips his hand into Peter's, the younger man linking their fingers together with a small and soft smile that Noah wishes Claudia could see.

Claudia had always after Peter, and Noah now knows why.

He wished his wife got to see Peter like this, happy and hopeful, learning to heal and with both the man he loves and his son(s) back in his life.

"Noah," Peter turns to give Jordan a smile, mildly thankful that the younger man had taken no notice of the burn scars twisting the right side of his face—part of Peter wonders if they will ever heal, and part of Peter fears they won't. "It was nice to meet you, Jordan. No doubt we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the future, as Noah said, we're practically family in more than one way."

Peter's smile turns impish at those last words making Chris roll his eyes slightly, Noah narrow his eyes in suspicion and Jordan to smile despite his confusion.

"It's nice to meet you both," Jordan says as he turns to include Chris into it, and Chris steps forward with his free hand outstretched to shake Jordan's hand.

"I'm Chris Argent, and he's Peter Hale since both of these two forgot to properly introduce us," Chris says dryly as he gives Jordan's a strong shake. "Hopefully, next time we can get to talk properly."

"I would like that," Jordan smiles as he releases Chris' hand.

"He's only Chris Argent for now," Peter tightens his grip on Chris' hand. "I'm planning on making him Chris Hale soon enough."

"Is that how you are proposing to me?" Chris asks in disbelief.

“Trust me, Christopher. When I propose to you, you’ll know it. It’s going to be the grandest of gestures from me,” Peter smirks, leaning forward to stroke Chris’s cheek.

“And what if I decide to be the one to propose to you?”

Peter snorts, and gives Chris’s cheek a gentle pat, “Don’t even try it, Christopher. I already have things set in motion. Now come along, I’m sure Derek is starting to get worried with how long we’re taking to get home,” Peter pulls his jacket back on, giving the officers another nod before exiting the room with a love-sick Chris right behind him.

Chuckling at the two of them as the door shuts, Noah shakes his head before turning to glance at Jordon.

“Welcome to the circus, kiddo. You’re going to have to start expecting the unexpected while living here,” Noah flips open the folder again, and opens up his computer.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that feeling around here,” Jordon grins, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs. “If you don’t mind me asking, I was wondering if you could tell me more about Stiles. My...my little brother.”

“You sound very excited at the idea of having a brother.”

“It’s not that, it’s just growing up I was an only child. So finding out I have a baby brother, it makes me want to get to know him. I have so many years of being an older brother to catch up on.”

Noah feels his shoulders soften at that, knowing in that moment that Stiles and Jordon are going to get along just fine.

“Well, I’ll tell you this—there’s a lot to talk about that boy. It’s more like what he _hasn’t_ done.”

Jordan just looks eager, and well, Noah hasn't had someone to talk about Stiles that wasn't there or had their own opinions about what happened.

"Right, childhood stories or the more recent trouble he's got himself mixed up with?" Noah asks, trying not to sound too eager.

It's just been so long since Noah could talk to someone that didn't just roll their eyes and say 'of course he did' in that tone that Noah's guilty using in the past.

"Childhood stories?" Jordan asks hopefully, and Noah grins.

"Prepare yourself for the madness that is my son," Noah warns him, and Jordan just continues to look eager, if slightly disbelieving that Stiles is _that_ bad.

* * *

As soon as the last bell rings, Stiles wants to grab Scott—disturbingly easy to do considering he's still very much a leech wolf—and drag him to Peter and make the Beta the Alpha's problem and not his.

Unfortunately for Scott (and Stiles' peace of mind), it's only Derek coming to pick him up considering their plans for the mall, and Stiles isn't going to force Derek to spend time with someone that accused him of murder, thought his family had done something to deserve being killed, and hasn't apologised for any of that.

Stiles apologised, would have gotten on his knees and begged for forgiveness if he needed to, but Scott? Scott probably didn't even realise he should apologise for anything, and it's something Stiles will have to beat into his head before Stiles will willingly let Scott spend time with Derek.

Though, Scott now knowing that Allison and Derek are kind of siblings? _That_ may make Scott think about what he says and stop accusing Derek of shit, all in the name of securing Allison's affection again.

Something he'll have to give Allison the heads up about considering Scott still thinks in the terms of her being his girlfriend despite Allison breaking up with him and giving no sign of changing her mind or wanting to.

However, needs must and all that shit, so unfortunately for Derek (and Scott), Stiles has to hand over his idiot and asshole best friend over to his boyfriend and hope that they don’t kill each other in the short time they are together.

Scott makes a face when he realizes Stiles is taking him to where Derek has the Camaro parked.

The older man almost having an identical upset look on his face when he looks up and sees who Stiles is bringing along with him.

He leans back in his seat, rolling down the window and crosses his arms as he waits for an explanation.

“Okay, I know you two aren’t on the best of terms. But Scotty here needs to talk to Peter, because _someone_ no longer has control on their anchor and thought he accidentally killed someone last night,” Stiles explains, choosing not to point out any names while he’s there.

“And you want me to drive Scott to the den,” Derek has to grit the words out of his mouth, hating every ounce of implication in it.

“Please. I just don’t want to bail on hanging out at the mall, I promise Scott will be good,” Stiles turns to give Scott a _look_ , “Right, Scotty?”

“Erm, yeah. Sure. I’ll be nice,” Scott scratches at the back of his neck, trying to not let it show how much he’d rather get hit with a car—again—than be in the same car with Derek Hale.

“Great. See you both later,” Stiles leans down to press a kiss to Derek’s lips, Derek not even hesitating because the moment he smells how much Scott had scented _his mate_ , it drives his wolf feral.

“Okay, cool...” Scott mumbles as he walks around to the passenger’s side.

“Backseat,” Derek growls, “You get to sit in the backseat.”

“What, but no one’s in the front!”

Derek picks up Stiles’ backpack and then sets it on the passenger’s seat.

“Backseat.”

"You're such an asshole," Scott mutters as he moves to the backseat door.

"Get in before I change my mind," Derek grumbles making Stiles roll his eyes and leans down to give his grumpy wolf another kiss.

"Perhaps after you drop him off, you can come and meet up with us?" Stiles suggests as Derek rubs his hand over Stiles' throat with a small scowl and Scott climbs into the back, loudly.

"Hmm," Derek says distractively, rubbing his scent more firmly over his mate's throat as Stiles waits patiently for him to be done.

"Remember, the Camaro doesn't deserve any abuse, okay?" Stiles rubs his hand over Derek's neck in return. "No matter how much an asshole Scott is."

"Hey," Scott protests from the backseat, and Stiles gives him a _look_ making Scott look away with a slight pout.

Derek grunts, hating every second of having Scott in his car, and tugs Stiles into another kiss.

"Come on, Stilinski!" Jackson calls from his Porsche, the driver's door still open as he waits for Stiles. "Move that ass."

"See you later?" Stiles asks hopefully as he presses another kiss to Derek's pouty lips, wanting to take that bottom lip between his teeth and _tug_ , but resisting the urge.

"Yeah," Derek says softly, rubbing his hand one last time over Stiles' throat before letting the younger teen go, and watching as Stiles almost trips in his hurry over to where the others are already in Jackson's Porsche before turning to glare at Scott. "Don't touch anything."

"There's nothing to touch," Scott glares back, and Derek scoffs as he turns back and gets ready to pull out of the car park, minus his mate and plus an annoying asshole Beta.

Rolling his eyes, Derek cranks up the volume on the car radio, ignoring the way he wants to flinch from how loud the music is before pulling out of the parking lot and gunning it.

He ignores Scott, and Scott ignores him.

The younger teenager has his arms crossed over his chest as he stares out the back window.

* * *

It takes less than ten minutes before they arrive to the apartment, Derek snatches up Stiles’ backpack and walks to the door, ignoring the way Scott shouts his name and chases after him to catch up.

“ _Jerk_ ,” Scott mutters under his breath, and Derek has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes for a third time that afternoon.

Unlocking the door, Derek walks in and gives Peter—who is settled on the couch, relaxed and laid back with a book and cup of coffee in his hands without a care in the world—an annoyed look.

“I thought you were going to the mall—oh...I see,” Peter sighs as Scott enters the apartment being Derek and shuts the door. “Well, I suppose this was going to happen at one point or another.”

"He thinks he killed someone," Derek tells Peter making Scott give Derek an outraged and betrayed look which only makes Derek want to scoff. "You bit him, he's your problem."

"To be fair, I was insane when I bit him," Peter points out as he closes his book and places both the book and his coffee on the table—making sure to use the coaster, perhaps Chris will actually remember to follow his example if Peter keeps making a point to use one of his coasters.

"Your problem," Derek repeats as he places Stiles' backpack in one of the armchairs.

"Do remember that Stiles isn't spending the night here," Peter reminds his son mildly as he reluctantly stands to take in his wayward and unwanted Beta.

Derek scowls down at the backpack, resisting the urge to pout.

It was bad enough that the den was going to _stink_ of Scott, but knowing he wouldn't have Stiles safe and content in _their_ own den?

"I'll drop off Allison first," Derek informs his mom. "I can grab his bag then."

"Uh-huh," Peter smirks, knowing it's just a way for Derek to extend the time he can spend with Stiles.

Derek turns to leave, he has a mate to get to, and Scott grabs his arm in panic.

"You're leaving me alone with _him_?" Scott demands as Derek stills and stares blankly down at the hand gripping his sleeve, stopping him from leaving.

"Let go of _my son_ ," Peter growls protectively, stepping forward and resisting the urge to bare his teeth and he flashes his eyes at Scott, reminding himself that the young Beta is just a stupid teenager and not a threat.

"Your _what_?" Scott gapes as he drops his hand, and Derek takes several large steps away from Scott, and rubs at where Scott had been touching him.

Derek had almost got used to Allison and Stiles' questioning him before touching him, Chris telegraphing his movements for Derek, Peter always giving him time to move away.

He should have known there would _always_ be someone that didn't care what _Derek_ wanted in regard to his own body.

Peter’s eyes remain red until Derek ducks out of the apartment, the urge to put his teeth into Scott’s throat and tear him wide open is strong.

How dare he lay a hand on his son! This useless Omega.

Shaking himself of those thoughts, Peter takes a deep breath to concentrate on the task at hand before focusing on Scott’s shocked face.

“Sit down,” he grits through his teeth, waiting until Scott fumbles into a seat before continuing, “So you think you killed someone, please, enlighten me as to why you would think such a thing.”

“I woke up this morning covered in blood, and there was a murder reported of two people who died out in the woods,” Scott explains stiffly.

“Interesting,” Peter leans back in his seat, interlacing his fingers together. “And so you went to Stiles for help? I suppose unconsciously your wolf understands that Stiles is like a secondary Alpha to you.”

The teenager’s eyebrows scrunch together, “But Stiles is human, he can’t be Pack.”

Holding back the urge to roll his eyes, Peter instead tilts his head to the side, “Of course you would think something as ludicrous as that. Pack is Pack. Wolves, humans, _others_. Doesn’t matter, if you consider someone Pack, they’re Pack.”

"There's other things apart from werewolves?" Scott questions in disbelief, and Peter wants to sigh.

If there was ever a need to prove he was insane, one would only have to look at the fact Peter bit Scott to know that he was truly insane.

"Of course there is," Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes and reaches out for his coffee. "But that isn't your problem, is it?"

"You said something about Stiles being a secondary Alpha to me, but that doesn't make sense," Scott says as he makes a face. "Stiles isn't anything like an Alpha, he's _Stiles._ "

Peter resists the urge to growl and snap something like "and what is that meant to _mean_?"

Thankfully for Scott, Chris enters the living room with his mug of coffee and Scott gapes at the man.

 _"Mr Argent?"_ Scott almost yelps, and Chris' face blanks as he turns to Scott.

 _So, that's why Peter sounded angry_ , Chris thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

"Scott," Chris greets evenly before moving over to Peter and sitting beside him, casually placing one hand on Peter's knee and squeezing it.

Scott boggles as he stares at them in disbelief and confusion, and Peter does sigh behind his coffee mug.

 _Ah, there is the bigoty he's already shown_ , Peter thinks to himself as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“Anyways, the point of the matter is that your losing control of your anchor. Now, what was your anchor?”

Scott looks at Chris nervously, and then scratches at his neck before mumbling something under his breath.

Peter raises an eyebrow, “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I heard you correctly. What is it, Scott?”

Glaring at the Alpha, Scott grounds out, “Allison.”

“You based your anchor on a girl you only just met? Why didn’t you use your mother or even Stiles?” Peter rolls his eyes.

 _Teenagers,_ he resists from saying out loud.

“Because I love her!”

“You don’t love her, you’re a child. You love the idea of what you want with her, but Scott you only just met her. You don’t know who she is.”

"I do!" Scott insists loudly as Chris shakes his head. "I love her!"

"Really?" Peter glances over at Chris before turning his attention to Scott. "What's her favourite colour?"

"W-what?" Scott almost gapes at the older man, and Peter raises his eyebrow at Scott.

"You heard me," Peter says somewhat impatiently, wanting to beat the truth in this _kid's_ head. "What's her favourite colour?"

"Err, green?" Scott offers as he thinks to the patches of paint Allison had been trying out in her bedroom and the different shades of pale green outnumbered the purple.

Peter doesn't even have to glance at Chris as he answers, "Actually, her favourite colour is pink, but she thinks that's too obvious and girly, and she'll always answer purple instead."

Scott flushes in both embarrassment and anger, but Peter doesn't stop.

"What's her favourite flavour of ice-cream?" Peter continues mercilessly as Chris sips on his coffee.

"Rocky road," Scott guesses, and Peter tsks.

"Mint Chocolate," Peter corrects, it was one of the first things Allison and Derek found out they had in common with each other. "What sport is Allison interested in taking back up here?"

"Archery," Scott says smugly, confident he got that right.

"Track," Peter corrects, and doesn't mention that she's trying to get Stiles to join with her instead of continuing with lacrosse.

Scott flushes harder, his eyes glowing golden as his anger and embarrassment increases with each wrong answer.

“You’re starting to lose control, Scott,” Peter points out unhelpfully.

“I _know!_ ” The teenager snarls, his head jerking up as the shift takes over his face.

Sighing, Peter stands up and comes closer so he can sit at the edge of the coffee table. Scott gives a low growl deep in his throat, but Peter brushed it off.

“Look at me,” Peter says softly.

Scott growls again, slowly loosing himself to the wolf as he wants nothing more than to slash at the man before him.

“Look. At. Me.” Peter tries again, this time flashing his eyes.

Scott gives in, a whine slowly emerging from his throat as he bows his head to the Alpha.

"There," Peter says with a rumble of approval, "Now pull the shift back."

He threads his voice with an Alpha command, and Scott winces as he shifts back and then he stares at Peter in shock and horror.

"What did you _do_ to me?" Scott demands as he leans back in his chair.

"I Alpha commanded you," Peter leans back as he glances at his nails.

"You're not my Alpha," Scott says firmly, stubbornly, and Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Be that as it may," Peter says smoothly. "I was still the one that Bit you, and that gives me a certain amount of control over you, much like an Alpha would."

"I don't want you to have _any_ control over me," Scott tells him as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Trust me, I would like to have as little to do with you as possible," Peter informs him dryly. "However, you are an Omega in my territory and that means _I'm_ responsible for you."

Scott looks as disgruntled about that as Peter feels, and Peter leans forward.

"Now, I think we have shown just why no one makes someone they just met their anchor, yes?" Peter asks and Scott's jaw clenches tightly as he nods. "Now, I want you to try and use your mother, and if that doesn't work?

Try anchoring yourself with this knowledge if you lose control around her? You'll end up killing her or at least severely maiming her, and there be no doubt about if you did it or not.

 _You'll_ be the reason your mother is hurt or dead, it will be _your_ fault."

"Peter," Chris says in reproach, and Scott stares at Peter with a pale face and building hatred.

"The soft approach hasn't been working," Peter says without looking away from Scott. "Perhaps the hard approach will work better."

“I don’t want to hurt my mom,” Scott says with fear rising in his voice.

“And I don’t want you to hurt her either,” Peter tells him honestly, “I don’t want you to hurt anyone, Scott. Because I know that you don’t want to hurt anyone unless you have to, and I know what that’s like. So we’re going to work on your anchor until you can control your shift.”

“Why? I’m not even in your Pack,” Scott asks, looking up at Peter.

“You may not be in my Pack, and you may never join my Pack. But I still think you should learn how to control your shift, so you don’t hurt anyone. You didn’t get to choose this life and for that I apologize,” Peter tells the teenager.

“I....”

“It’s okay to be angry with me Scott, I know you’re angry. But you shouldn’t throw that anger on anyone else,” Peter nods his head, “We’ll work on your anger issues as well as your control.”

Scott clenches his jaw and looks down at his hands.

"This will take time," Peter says softly as he clasps his hands together. "And it may be an issue you will deal with for the rest of your life."

"I don't want to be this way, I don't want to be _this_ ," Scott tells him as he clenches his fists before looking up at Peter. "Is there a cure?"

"No," Peter shakes his head. "There's no cure for the Bite."

Scott clenches his jaw and looks away, part of him already knew that, but he had wanted to know for sure.

"I'm never going to be your Pack," Scott looks at Peter as he says that, stubborn and foolhardy in his refusal.

Peter nods, not at all bothered by Scott's refusal especially considering what happened earlier.

“Then you’re going have to learn to deal with being an Omega. And that is not an easy thing to do. You are going to be alone, Scott.”

“What? But I have—“

“Friends? Yes, you do. And you have a mother as well. But that’s means something different to a wolf. Things are going to be different for you. You will be _alone_ , your wolf will be alone, and you won’t have a Pack,” Peter clears his throat, “This isn’t me trying to persuade you to join my Pack. I’m trying to give you a look into what life is going to be like for you as a lone Omega. You’re going to struggle with your control, things are going to agitate you more easily and when the full moon you will come here.”

“But you said I wasn’t part of your Pack,” Scott raises an eyebrow.

“I know. Let me finish. You are going to come here, and I will have to locked you up for the night or keep a close eye on you, there’s no telling what you’ll do, and I don’t want you to get hurt or hurt anyone,” Peter tells him. “I also need you to know, other wolves aren’t going to treat you nicely. You’re an Omega, they will only see you as nothing more than an annoying pest.”

“I...I understand,” Scott nods his head, running his fingers through his shaggy hair as he thinks this over.

“Good, then I guess we can start with your anchor and anger issues.”

* * *

Stiles is certain he made a mistake agreeing to go to the mall with Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore when the first place they drag Allison and him is the discreet sex shop in the mall.

"No, no, no," Stiles tries to dig his heels in, blushing as he thinks of Derek finding him in a sex shop, but Jackson and Lydia both have a firm grip on his arm and just drags him along while Allison, the traitor, happily walks beside them. "I _told_ you, we're not having sex!"

"There's a lot of things that can be used solely," Lydia informs him primly.

"Yeah, Stiles," Jackson smirks as he drags his friend along.

"You're just doing this because you want a dildo the size of my dick!" Stiles exclaims and earns more than one look from the crowd around them. "Allison! Allison! Make them stop!"

"I've never been in a sex shop before," Allison smiles innocently. "I've always wanted to see inside one."

"I can show you all my favourites," Lydia tells Allison, and the brunette to blush as she pushes some of her hair behind her ear.

"There is no phone-charms there! We came for phone-charms!"

"Perhaps Derek should invest in a gag," Lydia muses and makes Stiles splutter as he stares at her.

“A gag, seriously? You’re not funny.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, ignoring the rising blush on his cheek as he glares at his friends, his _betraying_ liars of a friend group.

“Quit your whining, Stilinski. I can practically hear it from where I’m standing,” Jackson huffs, crossing over the store to the dildo section. “Why don’t you quit being a sourpuss and actually have a bit of fun. It’s only a sex store, what are you, eight?”

“Actually, I’m nine and a half,” Stiles says crossly, grinning when Allison giggles next to him.

He follows Jackson into the dildo section and blushes a little when he sees the collection of displays they have going on.

Jackson browses them like someone trying to decide on the freshness of a cucumber and it makes Stiles want to throw himself down the stairs at his awful comparing.

Stiles is seconds away from leaving Jackson alone in here when his eyes catch sight of something interesting.

_”Rex, the Wolfman dildo for all werewolf loving fans.”_

It’s a thickly sized dido that’s supposed to be shaped like a wolfs cock, and a bulbous shape at the end where the knot would be.

Stiles shouldn’t find such a thing interesting, but then he remembers there’s websites that cater to people who want to be fucked on monster shaped cocks, and he shrugs off the embarrassment when he picks up a box.

Stiles turns it over to look at the back and sees that you can actually inflate the 'knot' which makes him give off an interested noise.

"Here you go," Lydia smiles devilishly at Stiles as she hands over a basket before pulling Allison over to the vibrators.

Stiles blushes as he tucks the box in the basket, hanging the handles over his elbow as he pushes back his embarrassment to browse.

"Seven and a half?" Jackson questions hopefully making Stiles glare and huff before he leaves Jackson standing there.

Stiles stays away from the display of whips, paddles and such because he doesn't think Derek would be interested in pain-play considering his experience in sex.

Cock rings, Stiles pauses at the display and thinks of when they are finally ready to have sex and knows he'd probably cum without hesitation the first time Derek either enters him or Stiles enters Derek, so yeah, cock ring into the basket it goes.

Stiles should probably stock up on lube for solely use, so, into the basket goes a large bottle.

Stiles is a teenage boy, a horny teenage boy, a teenage boy with a hot older boyfriend.

His wrist is going to be so sore, Stiles realises, and he drifts back to the dildo section for a 'normal' dildo for solely use.

Jackson is still eyeing up the different sizes, judging between seven and half inches and seven inches with an odd look towards the eight inches dildo, and Stiles flushes as he realises the other teen was serious in his desire to getting a dildo the size of Stiles' dick.

* * *

Derek thinks he could track Stiles anywhere, his mate's scent is deeply ingrained in his mind, and it's easy to track him despite the bustle of the mall.

Derek blushes as he stares at the shop Stiles' scent leads him to, and shifts awkwardly as he tries to bring himself to enter the shop.

“Seriously, Stiles. What the hell are you doing in here?” Derek grumbles to himself, he punches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath before entering the store.

Immediately, Derek wants to cringe away and leave the shop immediately when he smells the instant spike of arousal and interest of his appearance. Glancing over at the counter, Derek frowns when he sees the two cashiers staring at him with a hunger in their eyes.

Ignoring them, he hunts down his mate, walking along the walls like a lurking shadow as he comes up behind Stiles while his mate is comparing two different flavor lube packets.

“Find anything interesting?” Derek tries to keep his voice cool and calm, trying not to let off the fact that he's blushing.

 _"Jesus!"_ Stiles yelps, dropping the two packets in his hands and spinning around to stare up at Derek. "Hey, Derek."

"Stiles."

Stiles flushes as he drops his basket down and bends down to grab the two packets to place them back.

"Before you say anything," Stiles straightens and flails slightly. "This isn't _any_ attempt to force anything or anything like that, everything in this basket is for my personal use and scientific curiosity."

"Scientific curiosity," Derek repeats flatly before glancing down and almost choking as he sees the word 'werewolf'. _"Jesus."_

"I'm not _ready_ , you're not _ready_ ," Stiles continues as he keeps gesturing uselessly. "And that's completely fine! But you know, we're going to have urges and all that, and it totally wasn't my idea to come here, but there's a lot of things here that are really interesting! And like I said, scientific curiosity!"

"Like a werewolf dildo?" Derek asks as his ears flush a deep red.

"Scientific curiosity!" Stiles repeats as he reaches down and grabs the box, turning it so Derek can see the back. "See? The knot inflates—"

Derek gives a strangled sound.

"—and I thought it would be interesting to see how it feels, you know? See if I like it, and get used to it before we have sex," Stiles pauses for a moment and then his eyes widen in panic. "Not that I'm expecting you to top if you don't want to! You can totally bottom! I so would not mind you bottoming!"

"Part of me wants to stop this train wreck," Lydia says to Allison as they watch the scene. "But another part of me can't help, but want to see just how far Stiles will go in his panic."

Derek covers his face as Stiles just _keeps_ talking.

“Stiles—please, shut up. For both our sakes,” Derek says as nicely as he can.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles covers his face with a hand, blowing air out his mouth as he tries to come down from the half panic half arousal state he’s in.

He feels a hand rest on his chest, and then move to cup his cheek.

Looking up, Stiles blushes as he sees the wolfish grin on Derek’s face, and tries to duck his head again only to be halted by a finger under his chin.

“What are you smiling at?” Stiles shuffles a little.

“Nothing,” Derek lies, totally not imagining Stiles riding the knotted dildo and screaming out Derek’s name all night long.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Stiles scrunches his eyebrows together.

“Mmmh, I’m just think about you,” Derek leans a little closer, forgetting anyone that could be around them.

“All good things, I hope.”

“Definitely good things,” Derek presses a sharp kiss to Stiles’ lips, before pulling away. “Now come on, we still have to finish this shopping trip.”

"Here?" Stiles squeaks slightly as Derek leans down to scoop up the basket and rest it in the crook of his elbow.

Derek just cocks an eyebrow and gives Stiles a smirk as he holds out a hand, Stiles flushes as he takes Derek's hand and links their fingers together.

"Okay, here," Stiles flushes as he smiles, squeezing Derek's hand.

Derek inhales Stiles' scent, using that to centre himself as he tugs Stiles along the displays and such.

He's never been in a store like this before despite his second job, he had never really felt curious enough to enter.

But there is a heated and swooping feeling in his stomach as he thinks about Stiles using these things on himself, calling out for _Derek_ , and he still wants to clench down in that strange way at the thought of using one of the dildos in _that_ box and thinking of Stiles, of calling out for Stiles.

Derek actually thinks he may be able to masturbate and cum if he thinks of Stiles, he thinks the thought of Stiles would chase everything else away from his mind, and let himself lose himself to the pleasure and the thoughts of Stiles.

"What else do you have here?" Derek asks curiously, and Stiles blushes deeply, clearing his throat.

"Lube," Stiles gestures lamely at the rather large bottle. "You know, for Stiles' special alone time."

Derek snorts, "Really? You're using third person again?"

"Yes," Stiles says with wounded dignity before clearing his throat again with another blush. "And, ah, a cock-ring for, you know, later."

Derek underplays his arousal in those words, turning his head a little as he leans in closer, dragging his nose against Stiles’ cheek and making a deep rumbling noise within his chest.

“Are you planning on wearing it, baby? Or is it for me?” Derek nips at the underside of Stiles’ jaw, smirking when he feels his mate shudder.

“Uh-um, _both_?” Stiles stammers.

Humming, Derek straightens up and gives Stiles a wink as he hands over the basket, “Find me when your finished shopping here. I’ll be over in the men’s section for that store I saw over there. It was selling leather jackets, and I think my boyfriend would look stunning in one.”

“Uh—“ Stiles watches with his jaw on the floor as Derek easily spins on his feet and exits the shop.

“Jesus, is that your boyfriend?” A woman asks next to him, looking like someone who has two kids.

She turns to look at Stiles and eyes him up and down, a sneer curling on her lips.

Furrowing his brows, Stiles glances at her to where Derek’s figure disappears and then back.

“Yes, he is my boyfriend. So keep your eyes to yourself,” he tells her as nicely as he can.

The woman scoffs, shaking her head in disgust, "The good looking ones are always taken or faggots."

"What did you just say about my boyfriend?" Stiles demands, his hands tightening around the handles of the basket as he glares at her.

"You heard me," the woman huffs as she flips her hair over her shoulder and turns to leave.

Stiles is tempted to grab something to throw at her, but Lydia appears at his side and grabs his arm.

"One shouldn't engage with bigots, Stiles," Lydia says loudly enough for the woman to hear and her shoulders to stiffen. "It only reduces your own braincells trying to stoop to their level."

Lydia tugs Stiles with her as she moves to a different part of the shop, "Now, Stiles, how do you feel about wearing lace?"

"Why do I have a feeling that you don't mean lacy boxers?" Stiles wonders out loud, and Lydia's smirk is wicked. "Can we save the exploration into lingerie for another day? I'm kind of done here."

Lydia's face softens slightly, throwing a glare towards where the woman had been, and tugs Stiles over to where Jackson and Allison stood with their own baskets.

"We can't spent the rest of the afternoon in one shop," Lydia says breezily, as if granted him a favour.

"I can't believe they have all this stuff right in the mall," Allison gushes in disbelief before taking in Stiles' expression, and her bright expression falls and is creased by concern as she steps forward. "Stiles? You okay?"

"Just a run-in with the bigoty that is unfortunately here in Beacon Hills," Lydia says in disgust as she takes the second basket Jackson had been holding for her. "Let's buy our things and leave, I don't think I will be coming back knowing they let _those_ type of people here."

"There's a bigger shop in town with more and varied merchandise," Jackson informs them, and Stiles isn't even surprised that Jackson knows that without even thinking.

"Well, I know what we are doing soon," Lydia sniffs as she turns to the cashiers.

Paying for his stuff, Stiles tries not to let the woman’s grating words get on his nerves as he walks over to the shop Derek said he would be in.

He’s honestly ready to bail on this whole thing and go back to the apartment to cuddle with Derek.

_Mmmmh, boyfriend cuddles._

Walking into the store, Stiles gawks a little at the inside of the place.

It’s got a very industrialized look to it, with minimum seating and racks and racks of leather items. From jackets, clothes, boots to bags, a few things specifically made for people who ride motorcycles.

He spots Derek browsing the jackets and comes over to hug his boyfriend from behind, only to stop himself at the last minute, not wanting to freak the man out or scare him.

“Hey,” Stiles says, a little too quiet but he doesn’t really care.

Derek turns his head, and gives Stiles one of those rare smiles of his, “Hey, finish shopping for toys?”

Scrunching his nose up, Stiles holds out his arms for a hug and after a moment Derek pulls him into one, leaning down to rest his nose against the top of Stiles’ head and brushing against his buzzcut.

“It was nice until some asshole had to make a mean comment about us,” Stiles mumbles.

Derek feels his shoulders tense, and his wolf begins to growl inside of him, “What did they say?”

“She just called us the F slur, don’t worry about it,” Stiles pats Derek’s shoulder.

Derek stills against Stiles as he once again hears her mocking voice in his head, _"You're not a disgusting faggot, are you?"_

"I'm not a faggot," Derek blurts, panic tightening his throat and the words slipping out before he can pull them back or censor them.

"I know," Stiles soothes, running a hand up and down his back. "People are so fucking stupid and unbelievable at times."

Derek pulls back slightly, stiffly, and Stiles looks up at him in confusion.

"Der?" Stiles reaches up to cup his jaw, but his hand freezes as Derek flinches and Derek immediately feels ashamed at the quick flash of hurt that spreads over Stiles' face. "What's wrong?"

Derek glances around, seeing the few other customers further away from them and seeing Allison, Jackson and Lydia waiting outside for them, and then backs at Stiles' worried face.

He licks his lips, wanting to bite down on his tongue to stop this conversation especially considering they were in public, but it's Derek's fault this is happening, and he has to go through with this.

"I-I'm not gay," Derek confesses, cringing immediately as he expects Stiles to pull away or lash out for leading him on.

But of course, Stiles doesn't ever do anything anyone expects.

"Okay," Stiles accepts it easily, nodding thoughtfully. "So, are you bisexual? Pansexual? Demisexual? Graysexual? Omnisexual? Or even Sapiosexual?"

Derek stares down at Stiles in increasing confusion as his head spins with all the terms Stiles just threw out.

"Want me to correct people that imply you are gay? Cause I can do that," Stiles nods and looks up at Derek expectedly.

Derek blanks, he doesn't know what to do or say to anything Stiles just said.

“There are—I don’t. What?” Derek can’t seem to wrap his head around what Stiles is trying to ask of him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t even know what half of those words mean, Stiles,” Derek admits, swallowing tightly as he hunches his shoulders up.

“Oh,” Stiles stares at him blankly, before a smile graces his face. “That’s okay dude, you don’t have to label yourself something if you don’t know what they mean. Or are still confused about your sexuality.”

“I’m not confused about my sexuality. I’m straight,” Derek’s eyebrows scrunch together as he tells Stiles the truth.

Stiles laughs, a short little bark of laughter that startled Derek.

“Uh, no, you’re not?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Okay, then what am I? Your gay exclusion?” Stiles rolls his eyes, suddenly feeling insecure about himself.

“No, you’re my mate. It doesn’t matter what sex you are, I’m going to love you anyways,” Derek tries to explain, hoping Stiles gets the hint.

But the teenager gives him a long look and then shakes his head, “Derek, you’re not straight.”

"Yes I am," Derek insists, annoyed that Stiles isn't believing him. "I know I am."

"Derek, there's a difference between sexuality and romantic inclination," Stiles explains, trying not to give into his insecurity and run away from this conversation, though he does step slightly away from Derek. "You say that I'm your mate, that you are going to love me no matter what, yeah?"

Derek nods, frowning in confusion as he wonders where Stiles is going with this.

"So, you could romantically love me without wanting me sexuality," Stiles continues as he twists his fingers together.

"But you are my mate," Derek argues. "I'd always want you."

"Which means on some level you know you aren't straight," Stiles argues back, keeping his voice low since he remembers they are in public.

"I'm not gay," Derek insists tightly, feeling suddenly trapped at Stiles' insistence that he isn't straight.

He's straight, he's straight, h-he needs to be straight.

"Just because you aren't straight doesn't mean you are gay," Stiles frowns up at him, confused why he keeps falling back that one sentence.

“I-I—you don’t—“ Derek bites his tongue, the last time he said those words Stiles _almost left_ , his mate almost left, and it shakes his entire being and the things he grew up around because he’s absolutely sure he’s _not gay._

Yes, Stiles is a man. But he’s also Derek’s mate, he’s gonna want things with Stiles he’s never wanted with another man! Why couldn’t Stiles understand this?

“Let’s just table this for another time. I can see it’s gonna explode your little “straight” brain, and I didn’t come here to argue,” Stiles sighs, keeping his arms crossed as he turns and starts to walk away. “I’m gonna go find Jackson.”

Derek opens his mouth to call Stiles’ name, but nothing comes out and he’s stuck standing there, watching as Stiles leaves the store with hunched shoulders and smelling like anxiety and insecurities.

“God _damnit_ ,” Derek snarls under his breath, tilting his head down to flash blue eyes at the ground while his claws dig into a leather jacket.

Glancing down at his hands, Derek’s nostrils flare in anger before he shakes his head and follows after his upset mate.

* * *

"Hey, what's was taking so long?" Jackson asks as Stiles comes towards him.

Stiles doesn't answer and Jackson frowns as the other teen keeps walking towards him until they collide, and Stiles can press his forehead against his shoulder.

"What the fuck?" Jackson asks as he wraps an arm around Stiles' waist and the other around Stiles' shoulders as he looks to where Derek is heading their way with a kicked puppy look mixed with a pissed off puppy look. "What did _you_ do?"

"Nothing, it's fine, Jax," Stiles squeezes his middle for a moment before pulling back. "Just needed a hug."

Jackson isn't convinced, and sharing a glance with Lydia shows she isn't either, but Lydia purses her lips and shakes her head slightly, silently telling him to leave it.

Stiles steps back to Derek's side and holds out his hand, there's too much relief in Derek's shoulders and expression as he takes Stiles' hand, linking their fingers together.

"Where to next?" Stiles asks with a false bright tone.

"I thought Derek was going to get you a jacket?" Allison bites her lip as she glances between them.

"We're going to save that for another time," Stiles shrugs, dismissing it away.

"Okay," Allison hesitates as she glances at Lydia. "Um, where to next on our shopping adventure?"

“We can get ice cream?” Lydia suggests, giving Derek the stink eye as the man stands there in silent stewing.

“Sounds good to me,” Stiles smiles, giving Derek’s hand a squeeze.

The werewolf doesn’t say anything as they walk to the eating area of the mall.

But when they take their seats, he does lean in to press his lips to the side of Stiles’ head, getting a slightly confused look from the teenager.

Derek feels uncomfortable with showing a lot of affection in public, and he knows it’s something that stimmed from Talia and Kate. But at this moment he pushes away his trauma, tries to tear himself away as he wraps an arm around Stiles’ shoulder and keeps him close.

Jackson and Allison come back with everyone’s ice cream, and everyone takes a seat to enjoy the cold desert. Derek eats at a slower pace as he watches Stiles wolf down his own ice cream.

“Hey, can I try some of yours?” Stiles points at Derek’s barely eaten ice cream.

“I thought you didn’t like mint chocolate chip,” Derek says, and yet finds himself pushing his cup over to Stiles so he can have a bite.

"I don't really," Stiles says as he digs in with his spoon. "But I thought I would try it, considering you like it so much. There must be something redeeming about _this_."

Stiles looks comically doubtful as he holds up the spoon and eyes it like one eyes something poisonous making Derek snort despite himself.

Stiles almost smiles before he places the spoonful into his mouth, and then he sort of freezes as the others stare at him in various degrees of interest as he turns the ice cream in his mouth before swallowing with an odd look on his face.

"Well?" Allison asks eagerly, her own mint-chocolate halfway eaten.

Stiles makes a face before grudgingly speaking, "It's alright."

"Damning praise," Jackson snorts as he eats some of his chocolate cookie dough ice cream.

Lydia smirks as she digs in her coffee ice cream.

"It'll never be my favourite," Stiles says as he pushes the cup back to Derek. "But I suppose it's not _that_ disgusting after all."

Taking his cup, Derek takes a spoonful and eats it.

His eyes dragging over to watch Stiles as he takes a large spoonful of his own ice cream, licking at the whip topping and humming to himself.

Making a short inhale at the sight, Derek looks down at his own ice cream again. He thinks back to the argument they had earlier and realizes maybe Stiles was right. Maybe...

He takes another breath and rubs at his face, before going to finish his own ice cream.

 _Maybe_ he thinks again, but then those cold dead words are choking at his throat again.

_"You're not a disgusting faggot, are you?"_

_"Fuck, I bet your mouth would look great around my cock. How much for it? You look like the type to do **anything** for some cash._

_“She just called us the F slur, don’t worry about it.”_

Derek's breathing hitches as those words bounce around his mind, and he thinks he's about to get lost in them, in the voices and the memories, but then Stiles is touching his hand and looking at him with concern.

"You okay, Der?" Stiles asks, concern for _Derek_ filling his scent and expression like Derek's hadn't upset him, hadn't implied that he wouldn't have wanted Stiles if he wasn't his mate.

Oh god, that's what he implied, isn't? That he only wanted Stiles because the other teen was his mate?

Panic tightens his throat as he stares at Stiles, and then Stiles reaches out with that questioning look and Derek's burying himself against Stiles' side, tucking his nose against Stiles' throat as he takes deep and greedy breaths while trying to calm himself.

"Derek?" Allison asks in concern, exchanging a look with Stiles as Derek just shakes his head. "Should we just call this a day?"

"No," Derek says in Stiles' throat, not wanting to ruin this trip for Stiles, and then he pulls away from Stiles reluctantly and clears his throat before he repeats himself. "No, I'm fine. Just lost in thought for a moment."

His voice is weak even to his own ears, but despite the looks exchanged by the younger teenagers', they seem to accept that for now.

"If you're sure," Stiles says doubtfully, and Derek nods again with his throat still tight.

Stiles holds his hand, linking their fingers together, and Derek almost clings to Stiles' hand, holding on to his mate and using his touch and scent to anchor himself in the present.

* * *

Finishing up their ice cream, Stiles follows the group a few feet behind while he holds Derek’s hand, the older man staying silent as the trio before them chatters about with one another.

Stiles smiles next to him, and Derek feels like a black cloud around the group, always ruining the mood with his own.

He startles out of his thoughts when Stiles gives his hand a squeeze, and feels something small grow on his face when Stiles looks up at him.

“You’re in a sad mood today.”

“Sorry,” Derek ducks his head down, feeling awful.

 _Stupid. Idiot. I should have never come on this trip_ , Derek thinks to himself as he scratches at the back of his head.

“You don’t have to beat yourself up over it,” Stiles leans in and rests his head on Derek’s arm. “You know what’ll brighten that mood of yours? Comics!”

“Comics?”

Stiles points a long, spidery finger, “Don’t give me that look, I’ve seen your bedroom before it got fixed up. I know you’re secretly a DC fan, which is lame, but I’ll give you a pass because you’re my boyfriend.”

Derek snorts as he glances down at Stiles, "You have Superman and Batman boxers."

"I dabble," Stiles says with a sigh. "I'm ashamed to admit, but I dabble between Marvel and DC. And since I actually have read both, I can say with great certainty that both are lame in different ways, but I cannot control what my brain likes."

Derek snorts again as he can actually smell a hint of shame in Stiles' scent.

"You're ridiculous," Derek tells him fondly, and Stiles tilts his head up to beam up at him as if Derek had just declared his undying love to him.

"Oi! We're hitting the comic store!" Stiles calls to others, already pulling Derek along to the store.

"Oh come on, we're not nerds," Jackson complains while Allison perks up.

"Oh! I can finally build up a proper collection now," Allison realises as she follows after Stiles and Derek.

Her mother hadn't liked Allison's interest in comics books and didn't let Allison get into collecting them. Her dad though, he made sure to sneak her a comic or two whenever he could.

Jackson makes a show of sighing and rolling his eyes as he follows after them with Lydia walking with an amused smile on her glossy lips.

“Don’t lie, Jackson. I know for a fact that you’re an utter nerd,” Stiles points at the blonde teenager.

“I thought we agreed not to talk about that,” Jackson glares.

Stiles holds up his hands, “I didn’t say anything, I only _mentioned_ you were secretly a nerd.”

The blonde huffs, and crosses his arms over his chest as he follows behind them.

“So when can I have my turn at holding Stiles’ hand? Because you’ve been hogging, Derek.” Jackson steps in, glaring up at the older man.

“Dude, I have another free hand,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “You can hold that one.”

“Okay, but what if _I_ want to hold that hand?” Allison chimes in, smirking when both Jackson and Derek turn to glare at her.

"Okay, I will not be fought over like one of those teenage girls in those awful teenage romance movies and books," Stiles decides as he pulls Derek to a stop before pointing at the other teens in turn. "Jackson, I have a free hand, which you can hold whenever you want. Allison, I know you only said that to stir shit up because you are secretly evil under those Disney Princess looks."

Allison only looks smug as Jackson snatches Stiles' hand with a sulky look towards Derek which only makes Derek scowl slightly at him.

"If you really want to hold someone's hand," Stiles continues as he ignores the two silently quarrelling brothers, "then hold on Lydia's hand."

Allison blushes while Lydia holds her hand out expectantly with only the slightest flush which makes Derek arch his brow in interest, and Allison almost hesitantly takes Lydia's hand, and Lydia smoothly links their fingers together as she turns to look at Stiles.

"To the comic store, right?" Lydia prompts, and Stiles grins as he turns with his two bookends—they are going be so much worse when Jackson's turned, Stiles knows.

"Let's get our nerd on!" Stiles cheers making Derek snort and Jackson shake his head in amused disbelief.

"And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the man my best friend has been lusting after for years," Lydia mutters to Allison making the other girl giggle.

“I think Stiles is pretty okay,” Allison says, starting to get hot and nervous the longer she holds Lydia’s hand.

“Pretty okay? Don’t tell me you have a crush on him as well.” Lydia raises an eyebrow.

“Nooo. I’m definitely not going to get in between my older brother and his boyfriend, that’s just awful.”

Lydia gives her a look, “You’re taking this whole family thing very well, seeing as your parents got divorced.”

“My mom’s always been a bit mean. She never hit me, and I know she loves me, but...” Allison shrugs, “If they were still together when I came out I’m sure the response would not have been taken well.”

Squeezing their hands, Lydia glances over to where Stiles is laughing at something Jackson said before looking back.

“I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, plus it helps that my dad is supportive, and I have a cool older brother. Derek...he’s pretty cool,” Allison gives her a dimpled smile.

"You aren't the only one that thinks that," Lydia says as she nods towards Stiles leaning against Derek.

"And what do you think of him?" Allison asks, and Lydia purses her lips.

"He's nice, surprisingly nice considering his issues," Lydia admits after a moment. "I just hope that he doesn't let his issues hurt Stiles."

"Stiles is the most important thing to Derek, I think," Allison says as she watches the boys. "I don't think he'd allow anything to hurt him if Derek can help it."

Lydia doesn't say anything, but she remembers the look on Stiles' face as he came out that leather store, and she thinks he's already let his issues hurt Stiles at least once.

* * *

Stiles is almost buzzing by the time they finally step across the threshold of the comic store, and he's already mentally calculating how much money he still has on him and in his bank account.

 _Sex toys are surprisingly expensive_ , Stiles reflects ruefully as he mentally earmarks twenty-five to thirty dollars for the comic store, leaving him about twenty-five to thirty dollars for whatever shops Lydia drags them to afterwards.

 _I need to pull a few more all-nighters, build up my collection of papers for lazy college students again_ , Stiles thinks with a grimace as he realises how he's depleting his funds with this shopping trip.

 _Damn Rex for being so expensive, damn me for being so curious about being knotted_ , Stiles thinks with no real heat.

"Right, this is the ultimate store for geeks and nerds of all ages and levels," Stiles declares, mostly turning to look at Allison because she's still new to Beacon Hills. "It has comics, it has manga, it has figures and clothing. You name it, you'll probably find it somewhere in this mad house of brilliant nerdasm and geekhood."

"Nerdasm?" Lydia questions, and Stiles grins at her, looking stupidly proud of himself.

"It is a word combining nerd and orgasm to make nerdasm," Stiles says as stupidly proud as he looks.

“Yup. That definitely sounds like something in your word vocabulary,” Lydia sighs and glances down at her nails, but her eyes keep wondering over to the Wonder Woman comics.

They do have a familiar resemblance to someone she knows.

“If you guys need me, I’ll be over at the Batman comics and then probably looking at some Fable comics,” Stiles waves them off, letting go of both Jackson and Derek’s hands, making a beeline for where he’s been eyeing the new release section.

Smirking to himself, Derek goes to follow after his boyfriend but stops when he catches sight of the Superman comics.

Glancing over at where Stiles is standing, Derek looks back at the comics and then wanders over to them. His finger touching the spines of the comics as he reads them over before freezing of the Kon-el comics.

He remembers loving this characters comics so much as a kid, and slightly relating to him, but now more so than ever. A kid who grew up with parents who didn’t want to know of him, being manipulated and outcasted by the people he thought he loved.

Frowning, Derek opens up the first page and gets lost in rereading his childhood interest.

Allison lets go of Lydia's hand, and immediately goes to track down the X-Men comics as she fondly remembers collecting their figures as a kid.

Lydia looks around and sighs when she's notices Jackson casually walking down the DC aisles, and rolls her eyes as she walks over to the Wonder Woman section with some mild interest.

"Right if I pick up two packs of novelty socks and boxers which is eighteen dollars that leaves me twelve dollars for comics," Stiles muses with a squint as he looks at the prices of the Batman comics in front of him. "So, if I'm lucky, I can buy maybe three comics?"

"You know I can buy them for you," Jackson tells him as he wraps an arm around Stiles' shoulders.

"I don't take charity," Stiles says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction that makes him feel guilty even though Jackson doesn't even flinch. "Sorry, just, shit."

"It's not charity," Jackson dismisses, ignoring Stiles' apology. "It's a gift, to make up for me being such a dick to you for these last few years."

"You are a dick," Stiles retorts with a snort making Jackson nudge him sharply.

"Asshole."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Male bonding at its finest," Lydia says without looking up from her Wonder Woman comic. "Just let him shower you in gifts, it makes him happy."

"I can buy the underwear," Jackson smirks as he glances over at a seeming unaware Derek. "Then every time you wear them, you will think of me."

“You will not be buying me underwear, thank you but no,” Stiles pats his shoulder, and then glances down at the socks in his hands. “But you can _gift_ me a few comics—“

“Yes!”

“I said a few! Not an armful,” Stiles tells him, even though his little nerd heart is trying to throttle himself and demand for an armful of comics.

He’s missed spending afternoons alone in his room reading up the new comics and going on fan sites to talk about the update. But do to the reveal of the supernatural, a lot of his casual interest had to be set on hold.

Derek comes back over a while later, and Stiles eyes the handful of Superboy comics in his hands.

He gives Derek a wide smile, before reaching out to tug on his boyfriends shirt and pulling him closer.

“Can I kiss you? Cause seeing you being a nerd makes me really want to kiss you,” Stiles asks.

“Uh, sure?”

“Great. Awesome. Amazing,” Stiles pulls him down and presses their lips together.

Derek kisses him back, relief surging through him that Stiles still wants to kiss him.

"Let's move our stuff to the cashier before Jackson talks Stiles into letting him buy more comics," Lydia says with a small selection of comic as Stiles pulls back from Derek.

Derek frowns as he glances over to where Jackson's got several Batman comics in one hand while Stiles is holding two packs of socks and underwear in his hand.

"I still say I could have paid for the underwear too," Jackson says as he turns to the cashier.

Stiles rolls his eyes as he turns to follow after his friend while Derek hovers his hand over Lydia's arm to grab her attention.

"Why is Jackson buying Stiles' comics?" Derek asks quietly as Lydia eyes the clear inch of space between Derek's hand and her arm with keen green-eyes before she looks up at Derek.

"Stiles isn't rich like us," Lydia says softly as she looks down at her few Wonder Woman selection. "Jackson overheard him calculating how much he had left to buy comics since he wanted to get those socks and underwear."

"I would have paid for them," Derek frowns after his mate.

"Stiles doesn't like charity," Lydia tells him with a sigh as she watches Allison dump several boxes with figures in them—Funko Pop figures, Lydia thinks—and about a dozen comics with two t-shirts on the counter with a beaming smile. "I don't know if it's because he grew up with Jackson, and Jackson always showering him with gifts as much as possible in a way to show love and affection—something his parents taught him—or it's to do with how people reacted after his mom got sick. But the fact remains, he doesn't like to feel like charity."

"But he let Jackson buy him the comics," Derek argues and Lydia shrugs.

"Like I said, Jackson used to always shower Stiles with gifts as kids," Lydia explains idly. "Some of them were as simple as a pretty flower or something, but others were more expensive like comics or a video game or something stupid that Stiles liked."

Derek takes this all in as he watches the way Jackson and Stiles interact at the cash register, Jackson slapping Stiles hands away when he tries to grab his wallet. Giving the older teen a glare before pulling out his own credit card and paying for the stuff.

Stiles huffs incredulously, but Derek can tell he’s only playing up the act and it makes him want to wrap his arms around his mate.

He wants to go back to their den, wants to apologize and fully talk about everything that’s happened today.

But then with an intruding thought, he remembers he has to bring Stiles to his dad’s house, and grumbles a little to himself.

He startles when Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and presses his cheek against the man’s chest.

“My dad doesn’t come home until later, if we wrap this trip up early maybe we can go to my place and cuddle a bit?” Stiles asks so sweetly, and it melts Derek’s while being.

“Yeah, sure,” he leans down to kiss Stiles’ forehead, “Anything for you.”

“Okay, cool. And hey, maybe you can stay for dinner tonight! I can’t cook as amazing as Peter, but if I do say so myself that I’m a pretty good chef.”

Chuckling, Derek nods his head and pulls Stiles a little closer to scent his mate.

"I possible we can cut this trip early after getting Allison a cute phone-charm," Lydia says beside them, reminding them of her presence. "I mean, we're spending the weekend together, so we can't really complain about not spending time together."

"Yeah, your parents okay with you spending basically the whole weekend away?" Stiles asks as he pulls back away from Derek.

"Sure," Lydia shrugs slightly as she heads to the cashier. "It lets them argue loudly about their upcoming divorce without worrying about me."

Stiles grimaces slightly as he turns back to Derek, "Want me to come with you to the counter or what?"

Derek glances down at his bundle of Superboy comics as if he forgot about them, and nods as he reaches out for Stiles' hand.

Stiles grins up at him as he transfers his two bags over to one hand and grabs Derek's hand, linking their fingers together as easy as anything.

 _I don't want to mess this up again_ , Derek thinks to himself as they walk up to the cashier.

“Oh, Superboy, he’s a favorite,” the cashier smiles, picking up the comic books to scan each one of them. “Did you find everything you needed today?”

“Some and more,” Stiles answers politely, giving Derek’s hand a squeeze when the man doesn’t answer.

Derek looks over at Stiles before up at the woman and gives her a nod, before staring at some other spot.

“You know, it’s really nice to see more people like me,” the cashier smiles at them, running a hand through her pink buzzcut hair.

Stiles raises an eyebrow at her, and she giggles, “It’s nice to see more gay people. My girlfriend would have lost it at the sight of you two. We don’t meet a lot of other queer people here because the towns so small and quiet.”

“Oh...” Stiles squints at the woman’s name tag, and then smiles, “Well, it was good meeting you Sam. And tell your girlfriend the cute gay couple said hi.”

She laughs at that, and then hands over their bag which Derek takes quietly.

He turns his head to smile down at Stiles, giving his mate’s hand a squeeze before following him out of the store.

"Right, where to now?" Stiles asks as he looks around the group, everyone apart from Derek holding two bags—Allison's comic store bag being one of the bigger plastic bags they have.

"The phone store, it has phone cases and charms," Lydia decides firmly, turning with a swirl of her skirt to lead the way to the store.

Stiles squeezes Derek's hand as they walk after Lydia, Allison on his other side and gushing about the store.

"—we need go back there another day," Allison continues. "There's so much stuff! I don't think I've found everything I want! Oh, but I suppose I should probably have a proper bedroom before I buy more stuff."

"We can pack Laura's stuff away, set it up properly for you," Derek suggests quietly, still subdued from messing up earlier.

"Together?" Allison asks hopefully, biting her lower lip as she looks at Derek, and Derek nods in agreement.

"I love it when two of my favourite people bond," Stiles says as he wraps his arm around Allison's waist and squeezes while squeezing Derek's hand.

"I better be in that list of favourite people," Jackson grumbles from in front of them, and Stiles laughs as he pulls his arm back, the bags swinging from his hand.

"Of course you are, Jax," Stiles tells him while leaning against Derek's arm.

“Of course I’m on that list, I’m on everyone’s list.” Jackson says hotly, making a little sniff as he turns his head up.

Lydia rolls her eyes at the blondes antics and Derek just gives a huff of annoyance.

He almost wants to make a snarky comment but decides it’s better to leave somethings unsaid for now.

* * *

When they enter the phone store, Derek stands off to Stiles’ side as he watches his boyfriend browse the phone cases section.

Derek doesn’t really care about getting a case for his phone, it’ll probably break at some point and even a phone case won’t help to stop it. If he comes across a feral Omega, or a hunter, it’ll either get smashed or lost.

But he enjoys watching Stiles walk around and study each case, flipping the box over so he can read the qualities as he compares three cases at once.

“Here,” Stiles presses a phone case to Derek’s chest, making the man uncross his arms to look down and study the black phone case.

Looking up, he raises an eyebrow in confusion which gets a grin from Stiles.

“I know you aren’t the most technically savvy person, but having a phone case is important,” Stiles tells him.

“My phone is just going to break later,” Derek shrugs, “Either from a hunter or something else.”

“Quit being a downer and take the phone case, Derek,” Stiles pokes at his chest, “If your phone breaks, we can just get it repaired. But a phone case gives it extra protection.”

Stiles glares up at him and Derek rolls his eyes with a sigh.

"Fine," Derek curls his fingers around the case. "I'll buy the completely useless case that will in no way protect my phone. Happy?"

"I'm mentally doing backflips," Stiles tells him dryly making Derek snort before he turns back to the cases. "Now, do I get an orange one, a blue one or an orange and blue one?"

"Really? The Mets?" Derek asks with some disbelief, and Stiles looks at him in the eye as he picks up the orange and blue one with defiance in his eyes, as if daring Derek to make a comment about his choice or the Mets.

Derek snorts, knowing no one will ever mistake the monstrosity of blue and orange as anyone else's phone, and Stiles sniffs almost primly as he turns to the cashier with Derek behind him to buy his normal and useless black case.

Derek can't help but side-eye the pastel pink phone case with a pastel rainbow across the back and the silver arrow phone-charm in Allison's hand as she ques behind him.

"Pink isn't just a girly girl's colour," Allison says defensively as she clutches it protectively.

"Pastel Pink is," Derek says with certainty, and Allison pouts up at him.

"It was the only shade of pink that wasn't eyewatering," Allison defends herself, but the trip of her heart gives away her lie, and makes Derek give an unconvinced noise. "Okay, I just liked it."

"Don't mind Derek," Stiles says as he tucks his tiny bag into his comic store bag and moves to the side, so Derek can pay. "He doesn't believe in phone cases."

"I'm getting one," Derek reminds Stiles as he slides the plain black case over to the amused cashier, and pulling out his wallet from his pocket.

“Yes, you are, big guy,” Stiles pats Derek’s arm, giving his boyfriend a smirk and a little eyebrow waggle.

“Please, stop doing whatever it is you’re doing with your eyebrows,” Derek says, sounding a little strained as he tries not to roll his eyes.

“Shut up, you think it’s cute,” Stiles nudges him, as he grabs their bag with the phone cases.

“No, I think you’re cute. That, however, I do not find very cute,” Derek smirks when Stiles gives him a pout.

“So mean to me,” Stiles shakes his head and crosses his arms like a sullen child.

Chuckling under his breath, Derek pulls Stiles into his arms to press a kiss to his fuzzy buzzcut before saying, “Come on, let’s ditch and go back to your place. And you can show me how to put my phone case on.”

"I can't believe there's a nineteen-year-old that doesn't know how to put a phone case on," Stiles says sadly as he shakes his head. "It's a shame in this modern world."

Derek snorts as he slips his hand into Stiles' and pulls him out of the store.

"We're leaving early," Derek tells Jackson and Lydia, making his brother huff and scowl while Lydia gives a smirk.

"Oh, _really_?" Lydia asks suggestively making Stiles flush and brandish his bags at her.

"You have a dirty, dirty mind!" Stiles informs her making Lydia smirk wider.

"You better not hog Stiles all weekend," Jackson informs Derek before pulling Stiles into a hug, Derek still holding Stiles' hand.

"Please stop, my ego cannot cope with you both fighting over me," Stiles says as he hugs Jackson back awkwardly with one arm, his bags hitting Jackson's back.

Derek and Jackson snorts as the younger pulls away from Stiles and lets him go.

"Oh," Stiles remembers as he turns to Derek. "I have one more stop to make, and then we're home free."

Derek sighs, but follows as Stiles begins to drag him off while waving at the others.

"See you tomorrow, Stiles!" Allison waves back as she joins the others.

Derek doesn't know what to expect about the one more stop, but it wasn't a craft shop.

"What," Derek stares flatly at the shop as Stiles turns to him with a sheepish grin.

"Right, these are kind of gifts, so you have to wait here," Stiles tells him making Derek arch his brows in disbelief. "I'll be right back, like ten minutes!"

Derek rolls his eyes, looking doubtful, but moves to lean against one of the windows as Stiles hurries in with his bags slapping against his thighs.

Stiles enters the craft store with a glance over his shoulder to make sure Derek didn’t follow him.

Smirking when he sees the werewolf leaning up against a wall with his arms crossed and looking like a hot guy from a movie, Stiles enters the store further.

While he was stuck in his internet hole that morning, and from previous years of therapy, Stiles had learned a thing or two on stuff to help people with trauma.

Crocheting, knitting, sketching or other sorts of crafts were good to keep someone busy and their minds off of intruding thoughts.

Stiles picks out a few plain coloured balls of yarn, some crocheting stuff, a case of sketch pencils and charcoal as well as a handful of sketchbooks.

He grabs a few other things that Derek might find interesting and puts them in his shopping bag before going to the checkout.

Cringing a little at the price of everything, Stiles reminds himself that this is for Derek and Derek deserves good things in his life. Paying and bagging everything, Stiles gives the cashier a smile before leaving the store and going back to where Derek is waiting.

“Okay, big guy, let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Stiles grins up at him.

Derek snorts, and glances down at the new bag in Stiles’ hand but remembers Stiles said it was a gift, so he doesn’t pressure the teenager into telling him what’s inside.

* * *

A quick trip back to the Den to for Derek to grab his backpack, and then they are back on the road towards Stiles' house and the promised cuddles and Stiles teaching Derek how to put a phone case on—something Stiles still finds incredibly sad.

Stiles is thinking of what he can make for dinner, something healthy for Dad but filling for Derek as Derek pulls onto his road.

And all thoughts of dinner is gone as Stiles frowns at his dad's cruiser in the driveway with another and unfamiliar car trapping the cruiser in.

"Dad's home early," Stiles says with some disbelief. "And with a _guest_."

A guest that wasn't Melissa, Peter or one of his deputies.

Derek frowns slightly as he pulls up along the curb, and stares thoughtfully up at the house.

"Did Peter mention anything about my dad having someone over?" Stiles asks his boyfriend, glancing over as he hesitates about getting out of the car.

"He only said that your dad wanted you home for dinner tonight," Derek answers with a shake of his head. "It was important, according to him."

"A secret girlfriend?" Stiles questions doubtfully, and Derek shrugs as he turns off the car. "Shall we brave the unknown?"

Derek snorts as he opens his car door, and Stiles follows suit, turning to grab his bags and his backpack.

Derek's at his side before Stiles can shut the door, and he's gently taking Stiles' plastic bags, allowing Stiles to throw his backpack over his shoulder, and takes Stiles' hand with his free hand after locking the doors and tucking his keys away.

"Seriously, is it a secret girlfriend?" Stiles asks in something akin to an undertone as they walk up the path to the stairs and door.

Derek inhales deeply, frowning at the lingering ashy scent that is vaguely familiar and tugs at something, before he shakes his head. "It's a guy."

"Secret boyfriend?" Stiles offers even more doubtfully as they climb the steps.

"Doesn't sound like it," Derek says with his head cocked slightly as Stiles pulls out his keys.

“Weird,” Stiles mutters, wondering why his dad never told him about this mysterious guest in their house.

Shrugging, Stiles opens the door and walks in with Derek right behind him, the older man was alert and ready to throw his fist if he needed to.

They find Noah and the mystery man sitting in the living room, both of them looking like they just off work and had a beer in hand.

Stiles scrunches his nose up a little at the sight of the alcohol, his dad didn’t have much of a problem as he did before, but it still worried Stiles a bit and gave him the inevitable anxious feeling of something bad.

His eyes went from his dads smiling face and then over to the new person sitting in their living room, he was young but not baby faced, probably a few years older than Derek if not more. He had an athletic build to him and short cut hair that reminded Stiles of someone who was in the military.

Both men straightened when they saw Stiles and Derek enter the room, and it didn’t go unnoticed to Stiles when the stranger gave Derek a hard look like he didn’t trust the man.

“Stiles, how was your trip to the mall with your friends?” His dad asks, standing up to pull his son into a giant bear hug.

“Good. Long. Lydia wanted to shop a little longer but unlike her I cannot last that long in shopping areas before I start to mentally breakdown,” Stiles jokes.

“Unless it’s grocery shopping,” his dad points.

“Hey now, I have to make sure you’re not eating too many bad foods. It’s not my fault the print is so small,” Stiles quips, glancing over to the stranger. “Who’s this? Your secret boyfriend?”

His dad chokes at the question and the other guy almost recoils with a look of horror which Stiles personally thinks is an overreaction.

"No!" Noah almost snaps, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Jesus, no, not he's not my secret boyfriend—not that there is a secret boyfriend or girlfriend for you to find."

Noah gives a glare at Stiles, knowing if he didn't clarify that then Stiles would do his best to discover Noah's secret partner.

He had enough problems with Stiles keeping an eye on his diet and getting his own deputies to spy on him. He did not need Stiles involving himself into Noah's nonexistence love-life.

"Stiles, this is Jordan Parrish," Noah keeps hold of Stiles' shoulder as he turns to Jordan, and the young man almost hops up in his nervousness, looking excited and nervous as he comes closer. "Jordan, this is Stiles."

"Hey," Jordan clears his throat, blushing as he realises just how breathless he sounded, and ignoring the distrusting and confused scowl of Derek as Derek hovers behind Stiles. "I'm very glad to meet you, Stiles."

"Err, nice to meet you too?" Stiles trails into a question as he shakes Jordan's hands, throwing a questioning glance towards Derek.

 _Nervousness, excitement, hope, confusion, relief_ , Derek shakes his head at his mate's look, not able to make sense of the emotions in the room.

"So, yeah," Stiles pulls back his hand and ducks under his dad's hand as he retreats to Derek's side. "We're going to go up to my room—"

"No," Noah interrupts and says firmly, and Stiles gapes at him in disbelief before drawing Noah off to the side a bit with an awkward smile towards Jordan.

"If you are saying no because you think we're going to have sex," Stiles whispers furiously, trying not blush and not looking at Derek or Jordan. "I told you, we're not ready."

"I know, and I trust you about that," Noah says, scrubbing a hand over his mouth as he glances towards an awkward Jordan. "It's not about that."

"Then what is it about?" Stiles asks.

“You might want to sit down, son.”

“ _Okay?_ This is officially weirding me out a bit,” Stiles slowly takes a seat on the couch, giving a cursory look between both his dad and Jordan and then waiting for an answer. “Oh my god, are you getting fired!?”

“What! No! Damnit, Stiles—“ his dad almost facepalms, but instead rubs at his forehead before looking back up. “No, I’m not getting fired or replaced. Jordan’s a new deputy.”

“Oh, okay, that’s cool. So umm, why am I sitting down here again?”

“Maybe I should try and explain it to him,” Jordan puts a hand on Noah’s shoulder.

“Good luck.”

Stiles gives his dad a look at that, and then rolls his eyes.

The two grown adults were the ones being weird, acting like they were afraid a bomb was going to go off.

“Stiles, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Jordan sits on the coffee table in front of Stiles, lacing his fingers together as he sits up straight. “I’ve been trying to find your dad for a while now, and the reason being was because my mom told me something I almost couldn’t believe.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, and leans forward.

“I’m Noah’s son, and um...you’re my little brother.”

Derek almost makes a sound of understanding as he realises just why this Jordan Parrish's scent smelled familiar.

He smelled a bit like Stiles, like the Sheriff, in a way only a blood relative could, and it had only been the ashy tone to it that tripped Derek up.

But Derek bites the noise back as the tension rises in the room the longer Stiles doesn't say anything.

A week ago, Stiles would have laughed in disbelief because finding long lost or unknown children just didn't happen.

But, well, it's been a long week and he's been proven wrong about that, what with Peter being Derek's real mother—ass babies, Stiles will never get over that and he's kind of worried about his own ass—and Jackson being Peter's _other_ son that Peter didn't remember about because his sister is even more of an evil bitch than Stiles already thought, and that's without getting into the whole Malia Tate also being Peter's kid and either dead or majorly lost in the Preserve for the last ten years.

So, yeah, Stiles has grown as a person and doesn't do the kneejerk reaction of laughing in Jordan's face.

Instead Stiles stares at Jordan's face for a long while, tracing the lines and angles of it and seeing hints of his dad in his features, seeing his dad's blue eyes staring at him with increasing worry, diminishing hope and nervousness.

Stiles then switches his gaze to his dad, taking in his slightly nervous expression as he waits for Stiles to say something, but not finding any guilt at all in either his expression or posture.

 _He didn't cheat on Mom_ , Stiles realises with some relief, some of the tension in his back and neck leaking out of him, before looking back to Jordan.

 _So, he's more than a few years older than Derek_ , Stiles concludes, increasing Jordan's age to around the mid-twenties area.

Which means that Dad met Jordan's mom long before Dad met Stiles' mom, and due to the fact that Stiles didn't know of this brother until now, Noah hadn't known about Jordan.

“Um...” Jordan scratches at his head while he waits for Stiles to respond.

“I...I have an older brother?” Stiles sounds like he’s almost struggling to process these words. “I have an _older brother_... Oh my god!”

Everyone seems to jump at his sudden change of emotions.

Standing up, Stiles pulls the taller man into his arms and squeezes as tightly as he can, pressing his nose to the base of Jordan’s throat as he clings to the man like a giant koala.

Pulling back, Stiles starts to bounce in place, “This is so cool, first it’s Derek with the new family members. Now me! Oh! Jordon—this is Derek, he’s my boyfriend! Derek, this is Jordon my _older brother_. Oh dude, do you like comics? Or TV shows? Please tell me you’ve seen Star Wars.”

"Err, of course I've seen Star Wars," Jordan answers, baffled by why that's in question, but unable to stop the beaming smile crossing his face as Stiles doesn't let go of him despite how Stiles' bouncing is making slightly unbalanced.

Noah tries not to draw attention to himself with how he slumps in relief at Stiles' reaction, not after he's spent the better part of the day reassuring Jordan that of course Stiles will love him.

"He's watched Star Wars!" Stiles enthuses towards Derek like the older teen may not have heard, and Derek can't help the smile curling his lips as Stiles' excitement and joy infuses the air. "Which one was your favourite? Do you want them in timeline order or in order of release? Are you one of the many that hate Jar-Jar Binks and find him annoying? If so, do you know that Jar-Jar was written to be autistic coded and you are really hating everyone who's mind works differently or are classed as disabled."

"Stiles, breathe," Noah chides, and Stiles takes a single breath before continuing in another vein of questions.

"DC vs Marvel? Captain America vs Superman? Iron vs Batman? Avengers vs Justice League? Young Avengers vs Teen Titans? Which is your favourite Robin? Who would you back with the Mutant debate? Professor X or Magneto? Should the Hulk movies count in the Marvel watching experience considering there's been two different actors playing Banner, and rumours about a third actor playing Banner in Avengers movie next year?"

"Stiles!" Noah says again, and Stiles stops as he waits impatiently, bouncing on his feet as Jordan looks shell-shocked.

Derek snickers slightly as he reaches out to pull his overexcited boyfriend away from his newly discovered brother, and immediately Stiles is wrapping himself around Derek while vibrating with glee.

"I have a brother!" Stiles repeats against Derek's neck, and Derek hides his smile against Stiles' hair as he hugs Stiles.

“I’ve noticed,” Derek kisses against the top of his head, smiling at his over excited mate, who has yet to stop bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Looking up, Derek freezes a little when he sees Jordan assessing the both of them and blatantly giving Derek the stink eye. The wolf inside of him is tempted to growl at the older man, and pull Stiles closer to him.

“Oh! Dude, I should show you my room—wait, is he staying here? Does he having an apartment he’s staying in?” Stiles turns around, Derek’s arm still thrown around his waist. Stiles’ cheeks turn red after a moment, “Wait, actually I need to put some things away first. Derek, you stay down here.”

He grabs his bags and immediately dashes upstairs, hoping his dad doesn’t ask what was in the black unnamed bag in his hand.

Derek watches with a fond smile as Stiles makes his way upstairs.

“So, you’re Derek,” Jordan says almost pointedly.

Derek straightens slightly, eyeing Jordan almost warily, and Noah turns to hide his smirk as he makes his way back to his armchair.

Stiles had cut him off at the knees before Noah could actually get into his protective dad mode, so Noah's going to drink his beer and enjoy the show.

"Yes," Derek says warily, keeping an ear out for Stiles and hearing his mate stumble and curse in his bedroom.

"And how old are you, Derek?" Jordan asks as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Nineteen," Derek bites back the kneejerk reaction to say twenty-four and then bites back the 'sir' he almost wants to tack onto the end.

Derek's been lying about his age for so long, it feels weird that people now know how old he really is, and he doesn't know what to make of how it makes people react to him.

 _Kate_ hadn't cared he was only thirteen when she approached him, and he's certain that his first _client_ wouldn't have cared he was only sixteen when they approached him with a promise of some extra cash if Derek was willing to sell his mouth, his cock and his hands.

Not that any of his _clients_ had wanted Derek to talk. They wanted his cock in them, his mouth on them or his hands in them, who cared what _Derek_ thought or felt about being a whore? They got what _they_ wanted, and Derek got more money for Laura and him—even though it made Laura halt and stare at him in horror the first time he came back, smelling of alcohol, sex and bile.

He may have lost Laura's respect by being a whore, but he brought a good amount of cash in, and it wasn't like Derek's useful for anything else.

It makes Derek feel stupid, feel useless, feel _sick_ , that he fucked whoever offered money, but the thought of fucking Stiles, of fucking _his mate_ , makes him cringe away and panic, insist that he's not ready.

Jordan looks vaguely shocked, glancing at Noah as for confirmation that Derek didn't lie, and Noah's amused nod seems throw Jordan off-guard slightly.

“You’re a lot younger than you look.”

Derek bites on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from snapping rudely.

He _just_ met Jordon, so it wouldn’t do good to piss off Stiles’ older brother for their first meeting.

“Do you want to see my ID?”

The older man tilts his head almost like he’s thinking about that before shaking it.

“No, if you say you are, then you are. But lemme tell you this, I’ve only just found out I have a little brother. I don’t care how long you two have been together, you hurt him or make him upset and I’m coming for your head,” Jordon holds up a finger to Derek’s face, and the werewolf doesn’t even blink at the threat. “Werewolf or not.”

Now that, that actually throws Derek off guard for a moment and he’s tempted—so very tempted—to bare his fangs at Jordan. But again, he doesn’t want to make a bad impression, so he simply nods his head at the man.

“I understand,” Derek tells him, the both of them taking a step back when they hear Stiles trampling back down the stairs.

“Alright, I had to clean my room up a bit more, Derek if you want to chill in there while I show Jordan around you can. Unless you want to go back to your mom’s house?”

“He can stay,” Noah shocks them all by saying. “Besides, we need to have a family dinner. Me, my two sons and Stiles’ boyfriend.”

Derek looks thrown at being included as family, and Stiles looks shocked before beaming happily at his father.

"I-I'll wait in your room," Derek says, barely stopping himself from fleeing from the room and Noah's statement that _Derek_ is _family._

Stiles' gaze follows Derek's retreating figure with some concern, before turning back to Jordan, to his brother, "You didn't tell me earlier, if you have your own place or moving in here?"

"Err, I'm currently living out of a motel room," Jordan sheepishly admits making two pairs of disapproving eyes snap to him. "I kind of didn't think to get a place before I came here? I just, sent in an application and came here without even knowing if I would have a job, let alone a place to live."

"You didn't tell me that," Noah says with fatherly disapproval.

"Dude," Stiles shakes his head, "even I'm not _that_ impulsive."

"And that's saying something," Noah mutters almost to himself before leaning forward in his armchair. "Look, Stiles is spending more of his nights away from home, he's basically living with Peter and Derek, so it'd be nice to have someone else living here."

Stiles flushes guiltily making Noah wave his hand at him, "I'm not complaining, Stiles. I know I'm not here a lot, and I actually feel better that you are with people instead of home alone. I'm just saying, it would be nice to have someone else here that also works my kind of hours."

"You're also family," Stiles decides to add to his dad's argument. "It's only right that you live here."

Stiles suddenly remembers that his dad said something about family dinner, and he almost slaps his hand against his forehead, "Shit, I haven't even thought about dinner."

"Actually, I'm cooking dinner," Jordan says, still slightly sheepish and overwhelmed with the readiness the two Stilinski's have welcomed him with. "I already prepared everything really, just need to actually cook it."

"Is it healthy?" Stiles throws a suspicious glare at Noah.

“Yes, trust me it’s healthy. It’s bison burgers which are definitely healthier than regular burgers, and good for the heart,” Jordon tells him, which makes Stiles’ mouth drop a little.

“Okay, we can keep him. I can already tell we’re gonna be the best of brothers,” Stiles grins cheekily, wrapping his arm around Jordan’s in a side hug.

The older man smiles back, feeling elated over the fact his baby brother already likes him. Although, he can’t say much about Stiles’ _boyfriend._

Jordan isn’t homophobic, he’s dipped his toes in the LGBT community and came out not as straight as he thought he was.

So that’s not the issue with Derek.

The issue is that the man either looks like he’s about to run across state lines or rip your throat out with his bare hands when confronted.

It makes Jordan uneasy having such a man dating his baby brother, and he can already feel his protective instincts come into play.

He’ll be keeping an eye on this Hale kid, family or not. No one is hurting his baby brother.

"Right, so, a tour around the house that ends in the guestroom which we'll turn into your room," Stiles says with a decisive nod as he begins to show Jordan around. "You've already seen the kitchen and living room, the only other room is Dad's study—you'll probably find yourself in there a lot."

The study isn't the biggest room in the house, but it's big enough for a desk with two chairs in front of it and a good lumbar-supporting chair behind the desk, two metal filing cabinets that locked—which Stiles learnt to pick open when he was twelve—and a safe where Noah keeps his more confident files and his spare service weapons with ammo.

Stiles takes Jordan upstairs, pointing out the family bathroom and the master bedroom before throwing open the guestroom door.

"It's not much," Stiles admits as he takes in the neutral painted room with its full-sized bed, twin bedside tables, built-in wardrobe and a set of drawers. "But I'm sure you can make it yours soon enough."

"It's better than the motel room I'm currently living in," Jordan says with a shrug, plus it's a room given to him by his family, in the home of his family.

"And my room is right across the hall," Stiles says as he crosses the hall and pushes open his door.

Derek's propped himself against Stiles' headboard as he reads one of his comics, and Stiles smiles as he takes in Derek's leather jacket folded over his desk chair, his boots tucked neatly against the side of the bed, and he's happy that Derek can be so relaxed in his room.

"Let me guess," Stiles teases. "You haven't braved the phone case."

"I'm not technologically savvy, remember?" Derek says dryly as he looks up with a slight smile that almost freezes at the sight of Jordan over Stiles' shoulder, and Derek almost hunches his shoulders.

"Hope you don't mind if I stay up here till dinner," Stiles gives Jordan slightly sheepish smile. "I promised _someone_ to help with their phone case."

“I hope you mean an actual phone case, and not a euphemism for sex,” Jordan crosses his arms and stares at them both with a raised eyebrow.

“Ha-ha. No, we’re not having sex, Jordan,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “Trust me when I say Derek’s a good guy, he knows I’m not ready for sex and I know he’s not ready to move into that direction with our relationship.”

Stiles glances at Derek, asking for permission to tell Jordan with just his eyes, and when the older man gives a hesitant nod, Stiles turns back to his brother.

“He’s been hurt, _a lot_. And his ex-girlfriend thought sleeping with an underage boy would be fun, and to put a cherry on top of that all she burned his entire family alive,” Stiles explains.

“Oh....” Jordan glances up at Derek who hunches in on himself a little more, he realizes then that Derek wasn’t being shifty, he was _scared_. “I see. Well, I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen if you meet me, have fun with the phone cases.”

And with that, Jordan spins around on his heels to make his way back downstairs.

Stiles watches him leave before turning to look at Derek, sighing from exhaustion, Stiles kicks off his shoes and jacket before climbing on to the bed. He takes Derek’s face in his hands and starts peppering kisses over the man’s face.

“I thought you were going to help me with the phone case?” Derek leans back a little, not to get away but to pull Stiles on top of him.

“I am. I just really wanted to kiss you.”

Derek ducks his head slightly, and Stiles blinks as he strokes Derek's cheeks, feeling the bristle of scruff coming in and briefly worrying he's overstepped, "If that's okay with you?"

Derek raises his head back up and presses a kiss to Stiles' lips, kissing him softly, "It's more than okay."

Stiles kisses him back as Derek pulls him close, his arms wrapping around Stiles' middle as he spreads his legs for Stiles to settle between.

Derek almost gasps as Stiles' crotch brushes against his ass, feeling that weird clenching again and the urge to press against Stiles, and Stiles' tongue brushes against Derek's lips, still so hesitant to press for more.

Derek wants to groan, wants to give in and open his mouth for Stiles' tongue, to lose himself to dizzying pleasure of just kissing Stiles, but he can't, not with what happened earlier hanging over them.

Derek pulls away reluctantly, panting for air like he's been running for hours and not just kissing Stiles, and Derek leans his brow against Stiles'.

"W-we need to talk," Derek says as if to remind himself, and Stiles almost recoils as fear and insecurity sours his scent, and Derek panics as he pulls Stiles close and nuzzles against Stiles' face as he tries to soothe him. "Nononono, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mess up, not _again_ , I'm sorry."

“Derek, you didn’t mess anything up,” Stiles tells him honestly, but Derek gives him a doubtful look. “No seriously, you didn’t. Arguments happen during relationships, and you know what makes a relationship healthy? Communication.”

Blowing air out his nostrils, Derek leans in to press his lip to Stiles’ cheek, just wanting to feel the smooth skin under his lips.

“I’m sorry, for getting angry at you earlier. I...You know I don’t have the best track record of relationships, and I don’t want them to affect what I have with you, but I just need you to know I’m...I’m not always going to be perfect,” Derek tells him honestly, his eyes slowly moving away so he doesn’t have to look Stiles in the face. “With K—with _her_ I had to uphold certain expectations, and if I did certain things she would...she would called me a _dirty faggot_.”

Boiling hot rage burns inside of Stiles’ stomach at this, and he wants to tear that woman apart.

“It’s honestly not the worst thing she’s called me, but being called a faggot made me...it made me scared. I was still growing up in that time when being gay was looked down on. And even though my family was accepting of these things I was still scared, because—fuck—maybe I was gay? Or maybe I was just _something_ before she came into my life, I already knew I liked woman and sometimes I’d stare at the other boys in the locker room.”

Stiles strokes the side of his face, patiently waiting for Derek to come up with the words and say them.

"I'd stare and I'd wonder what it'd be like," Derek admits, feeling the rush of shame that _Kate_ instilled in him. "T-to kiss them, t-to touch them."

Derek keeps his gaze averted, not wanting to see the expression on Stiles' face.

"B-but then _she_ came," Derek's breathing hitches. "And I knew I _couldn't_ look anymore, if I did... _she'd_ know and _she'd_ be _right_."

" _She's_ an evil bitch," Stiles breaks his silence to say. "There's nothing _wrong_ with liking boys and girls, or just boys or whatever you like, Derek. _She's_ just an evil and bigoted bitch that deserves everything coming her way."

"I've had sex with men," Derek confesses, keeping back just _why_ he was having sex with them. "B-but it was just something I _did_ , it didn't make me feel anything....like _you_. No one's made me feel like _you_."

Derek leans forward to bury his face against Stiles' neck.

"You make my stomach swoop and warm, my skin feels feverish," Derek admits, unable to look at Stiles, his lips brushing against Stiles neck. "I _ache_ , I want _more_. And sometimes," Derek's breathing hitches and he swallows, "sometimes I clench down, like I want you _in_ me."

Derek shudders against Stiles, feeling himself clench again as if to confirm his thoughts and words.

Derek never, _never_ , did that before. Not out of curiosity, not for his clients, no, Derek may have sold his mouth, his cock and hands, but never his ass.

It's like if he didn't then he wouldn't be proving _her_ right, that he could still say he's straight, and that everything he did was only strictly business for his few male _clients_.

"I-I've _never_ ," Derek doesn't know how to say it, and then Stiles is stroking his hair.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Stiles soothes as Derek presses himself closer to Stiles. "You don't have to say anything yet, if you're not ready."

Stiles gets the feeling that he already knows what Derek is trying to tell him. And he wants to hold the man so close and love him, kiss him, wants him to forget everything Kate told and lied about to him.

He wants to give Derek nice things, make the man feel good about himself for just one god damn day.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to talk about,” Stiles kisses against Derek’s forehead.

“Okay,” Derek nods his head slowly. “Could you just hold me for a while?”

“Of course,” Stiles smiles, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Cuddle wolf.”

Derek rumbles, pleased, at his mate’s easy affection.

“I want you to feel safe around me, I want to be someone you can trust. Derek, I will never lie or trick you. _Ever_.”

Stiles shifts until he's lying flat on his back and Derek's draped over him, his nose buried against Stiles' neck, and Stiles can run his hand up and down Derek's back.

Derek doesn't know how to say that he already trusts Stiles, that it's _Derek_ that Derek doesn't trust.

"I can do your phone in a bit," Stiles tells him as Derek drags his nose against Stiles' neck.

"Not yet," Derek says, and he lets his eyes close as Stiles goes back to stroking his back almost absently, it's soothing after that conversation to just touch Stiles, to breath in his scent, and know that his mate isn't rejecting him.

Stiles tilts his head to press a quick kiss Derek's head before settling back against the pillows as he keeps Derek close, his hand moving in slow and even strokes up and down Derek's back.

There's somethings that Derek doesn't believe he'll ever be ready to tell Stiles, like Derek's second job, the way Derek turned himself into a whore despite hating every moment of their touch on his skin, and how Derek's sure he'll never be truly clean enough for Stiles.

He doesn't think he'd cope if he saw disgust in Stiles' eyes, disgust of _him_ and what _he_ had done, and what he had allowed strangers to do to him _and_ what he had done to strangers despite shying away from having sex with Stiles.

Derek swallows thickly, nuzzling against Stiles' neck and trying to push away the memories and thoughts with the scent and feel of Stiles, here and _caring._

Stiles runs his hands against Derek’s cheeks, humming at how much the man’s facial hair has already grown in.

He’s almost tempted to make a joke but bites his tongue as he doesn’t want to ruin such a fragile moment.

Leaning down a little, he presses a kiss to the top of Derek’s hair before tapping the man’s back.

“Come on, up, up,” he grins when gets a grunt in response. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to fall asleep on me.”

“Maybe I was.”

“You can sleep later. Come on, let’s get your phone case done,” Stiles opens up the bag and pulls both of their boxes out.

He reads over the instructions quickly before opening the box and pulling everything out. Looking up, he holds his hand out and Derek easily hands over his phone without any hesitation.

Sitting back against the headboard, Derek watches as Stiles works those long fingers of his to put Derek’s phone case on.

It’s almost like watching a professional which is ridiculous because putting on a phone case seems like such a mundane task.

“Dude, you haven’t even changed your phone screen,” Stiles pouts.

Derek frowns at his phone before looking at Stiles, "It's going to break eventually."

Stiles rolls his eyes as he places his phone case before opening it up and showing his home screen, "Stop being a downer, look, isn't this cute? Don't you want a cute picture as your home screen?"

Derek's face flushes red as he takes in the photo of him sleeping, curled around Stiles' pillow and with his hair a mess.

"When did you take _that_?" Derek demands before his face becomes disgruntled. "I'm _not_ cute."

"You are the cutest thing in the _whole_ world," Stiles informs him firmly. "And the morning after we spent the night in our den."

Derek flushes deeper, but this time with pleasure and he ducks his head to hide his pleased smile at Stiles easily claiming it as _their_ den.

"It's so generic, Derek, it upsets me just knowing you haven't even bothered to change the background," Stiles continues as he looks at Derek's phone in dismay. "I won't even make you change the lock-screen, just the home-screen."

"Does it really matter?" Derek grumbles making Stiles give him such a pained look, like it hurt Stiles that Derek even asked that.

"You're nineteen, Derek!" Stiles insists. "You can't be so—so much like an old man about this!"

"Should I be telling you to get off my lawn then?" Derek asks dryly, making Stiles roll his eyes.

"You don't even _have_ a lawn," Stiles reminds him before pausing thoughtfully. "Though you did tell me to get off your property."

"It was private property," Derek reminds him dryly.

“If not for you, then for my sake. Please?” Stiles gives the best pout he can muster.

Not that he has to try hard because Derek is a weak, weak man when it comes to his mate.

“Fine,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Stiles a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck yeah!” Stiles fist bumps, opening up Derek’s camera app and then scooting closer to his boyfriend. “Put your arm around my shoulder, please.”

“Okay,” Derek says with a hint of confusion in his tone, obliging to Stiles’ demand as he loops his arm over his mate’s shoulder. “Now what?”

“Just look at the camera.”

“Can’t. Werewolf eyes affect the camera’s lighting, so it gives off a glare,” Derek explains.

“Huh...so that explains why you guys had your eyes closed in my one photo. Okay, what if you looked away or closed your eyes?” Stiles shifts a little closer.

Sighing, Derek closes his eyes and waits for Stiles to take the ridiculous photo.

He waits, and waits, and is about to open his mouth to say something when he suddenly feels lips against his cheek.

Soft, and warm lips that make Derek melt under the gentle touch. It was his Achilles heel.

And Derek hadn’t even realized Stiles took a photo, he just craves for more of those tender lips, turning his head to press his own rough, chapped lips to Stiles’.

Stiles makes a startled noise as he drops the phone onto the bed, but he's immediately throwing himself into kissing Derek as he turns to wrap his arms around Derek's neck.

Derek rumbles as one of Stiles' hands tangles in his hair, and for the first time, it's Derek running his tongue against Stiles' lips. Stiles doesn't even hesitates as he opens his mouth for Derek, and Stiles groans slightly as Derek slips his tongue in.

Stiles doesn't even realises Derek's moving them until Derek's flat on his back and Stiles is hover over him, his arms now caging Derek's head in as they make out like the horny teenagers they are.

It's only when Stiles' hips start to press down that Stiles remembers himself and pulls back, groaning as he takes in Derek's flushes features and shiny pink and pouty lips.

"We really need to stop kissing on beds," Stiles says before bending down to give short and chaste kisses to Derek's lips, trying to gather the strength to get off him and think more innocent things before Stiles cums into his pants just from kissing.

"Yeah," Derek agrees absently as he tugs Stiles back into another kiss, cupping the back of Stiles' neck in one hand and gripping the strap of Stiles' overalls with the other.

“You’re making it really hard to not want to keep kissing you,” Stiles breathes with a smile on his lips, nosing at Derek’s jaw and pressing kisses against the man’s jawline until he’s at his ear.

“We can keep kissing if you want,” Derek tilts his neck to the side, happily giving Stiles more room to kiss.

Stiles pulls back to stare down at the older man, “Are you okay if we keep kissing?”

Pausing, Derek shifts the question around in his mind. Is he okay with it?

He can feel the flush on his cheeks and the low burning of arousal in his gut from just simply kissing, but he doesn’t have that ache to push for anything more. He’s...content.

“Yeah...Yes,” he says more sure of himself the second time. “Just kissing, okay?”

“Sure thing, Der,” Stiles nudges their noses together and grins when Derek makes a huff, tilting his head just a little, Stiles kiss Derek once more and settles on top of the man, ignoring his own growing erection while they continue to kiss.

Derek kisses back, still marvelling over the fact he's content enough to just enjoy kissing Stiles despite the fact he can feel Stiles' hard against him and he knows he's almost as hard.

He's not filled with a need to push for more, he isn't afraid that he's going to push for more.

And despite how hard Stiles is, Stiles isn't pushing for more, and does exactly as he said he would do, go at _Derek's_ pace and with what _Derek's_ comfortable with.

It makes Derek's heart warm, swell, and it makes Derek kiss back as he cups the back of Stiles' head.

It wasn't that Derek didn't believe Stiles when he said that he would go at Derek's pace, it's just, well, Derek thought Stiles would get tired of going at Derek's stupidly slow pace.

But there's no frustration, no annoyance, no attempts to push for more, just easy acceptance and warm contentment that Derek wants to wrap himself in.

Derek knows he could get used to this, could get to Stiles making sure he's comfortable, get used to the easy acceptance Stiles gives, the warm contentment Stiles gives off.

It scares him almost as much as it warms him.

A knock on the door startles then both, and Stiles turns his head to give his dad a smile.

“Hey, daddy-o,” Stiles rolls off from where he was settled on top of Derek’s body, keeping an arm wrapped loosely around Derek’s body.

His dad gives him an unimpressed look, “I thought you said something about phone cases. What happened to that?”

“I was distracted by this handsome hunk on my bed,” Stiles responds with a shrug, and pats Derek’s chest with his free hand.

“Uh-huh, we’ll hurry up and wash your hands. Jordan’s already finished with dinner and asked me to come grab you both,” Noah tells them, giving Stiles another look before leaving them both.

“Sure thing, pops!” Stiles grins, falling back on to the bed. Turning his head to the side, Stiles leans over and presses one more to kiss to Derek’s lips before getting out of bed. “Let’s go, pretty boy.”

Derek huffs a laugh as he rubs his hands over his face and tries to calm himself down while Stiles takes this moment to adjust himself so he's not _that_ noticeably hard in his overalls.

Stiles quickly picks up Derek's forgotten and abandoned phone, shaking his head at the fact Derek hadn't even set a password to protect it, and pulls up the photo Stiles took.

Stiles grins as he realises he caught them in just the right moment, Derek's expression having turned open and soft with Stiles' lips pressed against his scruffy cheek, and he swiftly sets it as Derek's home-screen.

Derek sits up and holds his hand out with and expectant eyebrow, and Stiles grins as he hands the phone over for inspection.

There's a soft smile curling at Derek's lips as he looks at the photo, and Stiles gives himself a discreet fist-pump that still makes Derek roll his eyes.

"Didn't I say you needed a cute photo?" Stiles asks teasingly, and Derek locks his phone as he tucks it into his pocket as he stands. "I still can't believe you can fit anything in those pockets."

Derek huffs, "Shouldn't we be washing our hands?"

"True, true," Stiles agrees though he promises himself that he's not going to stop his quest into getting Derek either into comfy clothes, or clothes that are actually his size and not two sizes too small.

Stiles and Derek quickly wash their hands in bathroom before heading downstairs and to the smell freshly cooked burgers.

* * *

“It smells really good,” Derek comments as he enters the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Jordan smiles at him, and then his eyes narrow as he sees Stiles looking a little flushed.

He doesn’t comment on it, but the foreboding feeling is still floating in the air.

Stiles grabs down the plates and silverware, so he can set them on the table.

He bumps his hip with Derek’s so the man can stand back as he sets everything up, his boyfriend standing there and looking like an out of place child.

“You can get us some water, the glasses are over in the cupboard right there,” Stiles motions with a hand, finishing up with placing the napkins.

“Sure,” Derek awkwardly moves through the kitchen to grab down four glasses, trying not to think too hard as he gets some ice form the fridge.

“Bison burgers with homemade French fries and a side of roasted and seasoned cauliflower,” Jordan says, and he plates the burgers.

“Damn this is going to be so good,” Stiles rubs his hands, opening his burger bun so he can spread ketchup and mayonnaise on it.

Derek watches as all three of the Stilinski’s do the same thing, ketchup on the top of the bun and mayonnaise on the bottom, after that they press the buns together to mix the condiments.

“Huh,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Stiles looks up in question after he puts his burger back together.

"Nothing, just can see that you are related," Derek says with a quirk of his lips as he takes the ketchup and squeezes some onto his plate to dip his fries in.

Stiles gives him a confused look, but turns back to his burger and takes a bite with a hum of approval.

"I suppose it's acceptable, despite not being a proper beefy burger," Noah says gruntling though both Jordan and Stiles rolls theirs eyes as he takes a massive bite out of the burger almost as soon as he finishes talking.

"He always complains about healthy food," Stiles informs Jordan with a roll of his eyes. "No matter what I cook for him, if it's healthy then it's just acceptable."

"I always tell you, I don't need all this rabbit food," Noah insists making Stiles give him a look.

"Really? Because your doctor says otherwise," Stiles says pointedly and Noah makes a face at that. "I'll tell you everything he's not allowed, Jordan, so he doesn't try and cheat while I'm not here."

"I'll make sure he doesn't do that," Jordan says in amusement, and Noah points at him with a French fry.

"Remember, I'm not just your father, but also your boss," Noah points out sternly. "I can have you riding the desk from Monday onwards."

"Would you really abuse your power like that? Over your own son?" Stiles demands for Jordan.

“Yes,” Noah says as a matter of fact.

“So cruel, and to your oldest son,” Stiles shakes his head, “That’s okay, that means I’m the baby, so I get spoiled.”

“What? Since when has that been a rule? I’ve never heard it before,” Jordan argues, and then points a dipped French fry at Stiles. “In fact, it should be the oldest son that gets spoiled.”

“I don’t know about that,” Stiles taps on his chin like he’s thinking about this. “Nah, doesn’t work out. You’re the oldest which means you’ve got the most responsibility. Have fun with the bills.”

Jordan looks to Derek, “You’ve got siblings right? Like one or two? Tell him he’s wrong.”

Raising an eyebrow, Derek had been hoping to not get involved in this argument.

“Technically I was the middle child until I found out my mom wasn’t really my mom, and then turned out to be an older brother,” Derek explains, taking a bite of his burger. “And I think, the older brother should get spoiled because taking care of a bunch of brats is hard work.”

Stiles whines, “No, don’t say that. You’re supposed to be on my side!”

"I'm just telling it as I see it," Derek shrugs making Stiles pout at him.

Jordan blinks as he tries to take in what Derek just said, and glances at Noah questioningly.

"Peter's his mother," Noah explains patiently, still weird out that _that's_ a thing to say, and Jordan flushes as he remembers laughing as it was said men could get pregnant.

"Dad!" Stiles exclaims, glancing worriedly at Jordan before frowning. "Wait, Dude, you know?"

Stiles does this weird face and waggle of his eyebrows at Jordan making Noah shake his head with a sigh, Derek to snort and Jordan to raise an eyebrow in question.

"Yes, Stiles," Noah says dryly, hoping it'll stop whatever face that's supposed to be. "He knows about werewolves and shit."

"How?!" Stiles flails slightly, Derek grabbing his wrist before he can accidentally drop his burger.

"I-I kind of got blown up and survived?" Jordan asks more than says, feeling more hesitant saying this to Stiles then he felt saying it to Noah for some reason.

Derek almost chokes as Stiles drops his burger, luckily onto his plate, as he gapes at Jordan.

“Would it be bad if I said that was super cool? I mean—not about the blowing up thing. Getting blown up sucks. But surviving? That sounds cool.” Stiles says, leaning forward on his elbows to stare at his older brother. “So I’m guessing being a magical being is in the Stilinski blood. Also—what are you?”

“I have no idea. I was hoping coming here would help answer it, I thought maybe my dad’s side would explain it but...” he trails off and then turns to look at Noah, who holds his hands up.

“Don’t look at me. Last I looked, I wasn’t immune to fire and couldn’t set couches on fire.”

“That was one time!” Stiles throws his hands up, “Peter forgave me for it too. Practically thanked me because now he has an excuse to get a new couch.”

“Uh-huh. Sure thing, kiddo.”

"No, really," Stiles insists, Derek nudging his plate to remind the younger teen to eat. "He said something like it's at least six years out of date, and he actually thought about redoing the _whole_ apartment! I think that's somewhat of an overreaction considering it's _only_ one couch."

"A leather couch, a _genuine_ leather couch," Noah reminds his son firmly. "Do you know how hard it is to burn genuine leather?"

"It really was an accident!" Stiles insists, and Noah nods.

"And that's the only reason why I haven't made you get a job to pay Peter back for the couch," Noah informs him calmly as he tries to ignore the cauliflower on the side of his plate.

"Mom probably would like to redo the study at least," Derek says thoughtfully as he dips a fry into his ketchup before eating it.

"Peter's a total diva," Stiles rolls his eyes, and Noah laughs slightly.

"He was a drama kid in high school," Noah informs them in amusement. "If he could, Peter would have had dramatic as his middle name."

"Yeah, I can totally see that," Stiles says as Derek snorts in agreement.

“I remember when I would pick up Claudia after the theatre practice, her and Peter were always making a ruckus outside of the school,” Noah chuckles at the memory of Peter and Claudia working out silly skits.

Peter was the most eccentric out of the both of them, and his crazy matched with Claudia’s.

Derek smiles, a soft little ache in his chest as he thinks about a happy teenage Peter. He hopes with therapy and moving forward from the past and all the trauma it caused, Peter could be that happy again.

“Guess that means more reading ancient books to figure out what the fuck I am, and my brother is,” Stiles sighs to himself, not sounding the least bit sad by this.

Noah gives him a raised eyebrow, “As long as you make sure to keep up with your homework as well.”

“Of course! Dad, have I ever disappointed you with my grades?” Stiles waves him off.

“No, but your economics paper on the history of male circumcision says otherwise.”

Both Jordan and Derek choke at this, turning their heads to stare at Stiles, who is sitting there unbothered.

Derek shakes his head in disbelief as he stares at Stiles.

"Why?" Jordan asks in complete confusion and disbelief.

"Err, I went off into a research spiral?" Stiles shrugs as he pops the last bite of his burger into his mouth. "Finstock really should have graded me higher on it, I made sure to tie it back into economics at the end."

Noah doesn't say anything, it had been bad enough being in a meeting with Bobby Finstock and being called Bilinski again.

Apparently, that's a nickname that wouldn't ever die as long as Bobby Finstock is still around and remembered the Deputy-turned-Sheriff that eighteen-year-old Claudia Gajos had chased after and convinced to date her.

"How does the history of the male circumcision have to do with economics?" Jordan wonders in disbelief.

"Why didn't you use it as a history or science paper?" Derek wonders in his own disbelief.

"Trust me," Noah breaks in dryly. "I asked those questions, and I really wished I hadn't."

"It's a very interesting subject!" Stiles defends himself from the looks of disbelief sent his way. "Do you know between 76% and 92% males are circumcised in the States?"

"The fact that you know this off the top of your head...." Derek trails off as he shakes his head.

"There's a lot of debate if it's ethical or not to make that decision for them," Stiles continues as he dips his fries into Derek's ketchup. "But what age is the best to ask that question? And that's without taking out how the risk involved goes from 1.5% for infants to 6% for older children."

Noah sighs as he realises what his off-handed comment has sparked, he thought he had stopped this conversation after the whole paper thing.

“Stiles, no talking about dicks at the table.”

Derek’s ears turn red at that and he shakes his head, Stiles snorts and Jordan just smirks.

It’s then that Noah realizes what he said.

“Aw fuck, you know what I mean,” He shakes his head.

“ _Sure_ , dad. Whatever you say,” Stiles cackles with laughter, he was trying to hold it in but really he can’t. It’s just too funny.

“Let’s just try and finish this without getting into another conversation about _you know_ ,” Noah rolls his eyes.

“Sure, sure,” Stiles’ laugh peters off.

“This is a really good burger,” Derek comments, trying to shift the conversation.

"Thank you," Jordan says with a trace of laughter in his voice.

"Almost as good as Peter's cooking," Stiles agrees with Derek, and Jordan pretends to pout.

"Only _almost_?" Jordan asks in a pretend mildly disappointed tone.

"Peter's food is so good that he could be a professional chef," Stiles tells Jordan proudly, "Lydia wanted to pay for him just to make her lunch."

"He must be good if he makes _the_ Lydia Martin want to pay him to make her lunch," Noah says with a smirk, and Stiles rolls his eyes at his dad as he scoops up some of the cauliflower on his fork.

"You can't embarrass me with that anymore," Stiles tells him as he points at his dad with a bit of cauliflower. "I have come to realise that my crush on Lydia was both shallow and short-lived."

"Five years is short-lived?" Noah asks in disbelief. "With an additional ten year plan?"

"Whatever," Stiles holds his head up high. "It was misguided, we make better friends than we would romantic partners," he pauses thoughtfully before continuing in a musing tone. "Also I'm pretty sure I would have ended up fucking Jackson under her orders if I had gotten anywhere with her."

Jordan chokes, Derek flushes and ducks his head down, and Noah shakes his head before burying his face into his hands.

"I should have seen it coming, I really should have," Noah mutters to himself.

“Is it always like this?” Jordan asks, picking up his glass of water to take sip, his face burning from both laughing so much and embarrassment.

“Oh, this is just the icing,” Noah finishes off his burger, before digging into the fries. “Trust me, you’re gonna be on your toes with this kid.”

“Well, let’s hope my military experience has taught me how to keep up,” Jordan grins.

Stiles gives him a look, “Is that a challenge? Because I can definitely make it a challenge.”

Derek sets a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “Let’s not. Please.”

"For you, babe?" Stiles grins at him. "I will try to contain myself."

"Oh, I see how it is," Noah snorts as he points at Stiles with his fork, still ignoring his cauliflower. "You'll try for Derek, but never for your old man."

"You raised me," Stiles reminds him. "You should be held responsible for what you helped create."

"I don't take responsibility for _this_ part of you," Noah informs him in a dry tone. "I'm going to put _this_ oversharing and more than vaguely inappropriate part of you on Peter," Noah pauses for a moment and then adds, "and your mother."

"Then you should be used to this," Stiles leans back in his chair smugly, and Jordan snorts as he takes another sip of water.

"There's no winning with you, is there?" Noah sighs, and Stiles grins at him.

Derek snorts as he finishes off his burger and turns his attention to the remaining fries on his plate.

"So," Jordan begins, eyeing the couple across him. "How did the two of you meet? From my understanding, Derek just came back to Beacon Hills at the beginning of this month."

"He informed me I was trespassing on private property," Stiles says as he flashes a grin over at Derek as Derek rolls his eyes.

“Huh...”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, “What? Were you expecting something more romantic?”

“I was expecting something,” Jordon gives a shrug, “Like maybe you met at a club or something?”

“I’m not really a club person. Loud music, sweaty people, drinks I can’t have until I’m twenty one. Also, no one really wants to go to the club with the Sheriff’s son,” Stiles says offhandedly, “I prefer staying home and fighting monsters on an online fantasy RPG game.”

“Dungeons and Dragons?”

“I was talking about World of Warcraft, but also yes. Except I meet at the comic book store for DnD, it’s much more fun in person.”

“Nerd,” Derek smirks.

“Hey, you’re one to talk, Mister Superboy fan,” Stiles slaps Derek’s shoulder.

"That's one comic character," Derek reminds him with a smirk. "Not Dungeons and Dragons."

"Please, I bet you'd love playing a Champaign with me," Stiles tiles him, teasing him with a grin. "Oh, god, Peter would so be a _Bard_."

"You say that like I should know what that means," Derek deadpans, and Stiles gasps dramatically and vastly offended.

"I thought you could be my nerdy boyfriend," Stiles says as he clutches at his chest.

"He does give off a Bard feeling," Jordan muses as Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles, and Stiles beams at him.

"Right?!" Stiles exclaims as he turns to Jordan. "He'd totally be the stereotypical Bard that would always ask if he can seduce the monster or something like that."

"What?" Derek asks in confusion as Jordan nods with a snort.

“You’ll get used to our nerd discussions,” Stiles nudges him, and then looks down at him empty plate. “Damn that was really good. It’s official, we’re adopting you.”

“I thought I was already in the family,” Jordan frowns.

“Oh you are, I just wanted to make it even more official,” Stiles shrugs, smiling across the table at his older brother.

The word was still a little new, but it made Stiles want to hug the man, and squeeze him in a bear hug, or maybe have a movie night, with popcorn and cuddles and get Jordan and Derek friendly with one another.

Stiles doesn’t think he could handle his brother hating Derek or vice versa.

Jordan snorts in amusement as he finishes off his fries.

"Stiles is right though," Noah says amused as he crosses his cutlery over his plate, ignoring the cauliflower left behind. "We're keeping you if you cook like that every day."

"Hey," Stiles squints at his dad. "You still have something on your plate."

Noah blinks innocently at Stiles, "I have no idea what you mean."

"You're going to have a heart-attack," Stiles glares at his father. "Now, eat your vegetable like a big boy."

"You do realise I'm the parent, right?" Noah reminds him dryly, making a point at crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

"You do realise you are acting like a child not wanting to eat their vegetables?" Stiles raises his eyebrows at his father.

It's a battle of wills between the two of them as they glare at each other, and Derek and Jordan watch in amusement.

Noah finally sighs as he picks up his fork and knife to cut into the cauliflower with grumble as Stiles leans back in his chair smugly.

"He needs his vegetables," Stiles tells Jordan after giving his dad a pointed look. "He's just a child when it comes to it."

"I know how to make vegetables tasty," Jordan reassures them both, and Noah snorts as he gives Stiles a look.

"I've heard _that_ before," Noah says dryly as he eyes the cauliflower on his fork. "It's _never_ true."

"No appreciation for the food I cook," Stiles shakes his head. "For all the care I put into keeping you healthy and fit."

"You've made me eat horrible fake meat," Noah reminds him with a scrunched up nose. "And _tofu_."

“Hey! Tofu is actually really good! You’re just a big baby,” Stiles points out. “I may as well never cook for you again, and let you starve. But since I’m a good and loving son, I won’t.”

“Well at least I know you still love me,” Noah crosses his arms as he leans back in his seat.

“Of course I will, you’re my dad,” Stiles turns to smile at his father. “Even when you’re acting like a child about vegetables.”

“They’re _gross_!”

“Cauliflower’s pretty good,” Derek shrugs, warning a glare from the Sheriff. “Sprinkle some salt, pepper, olive oil and then roast it a bit and it makes for a good lunch.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to be my son-in-law one day.”

“I think he’s great,” Stiles finishes the sentence with a chaste kiss to Derek’s cheek which gets the man blushing.

Jordan glances at his father, wondering why Noah's so certain that Stiles and Derek are going end up married.

"And if he's as good Peter is at cooking or at least close, then think of all the tasty food in your future," Stiles says with a pointed look as Noah finally finishes his cauliflower with a full on pout that only makes Stiles snort as he stands. "Derek, want to help me wash and dry the dishes?"

"Sure," Derek stands up and stacks his and Stiles' plates while Stiles takes Jordan and Noah's empty plates.

Together they move to the sink where Derek starts to wash the dishes without complaint and Stiles grabs the dish-towel to dry and put away.

"What?" Noah finally asks as he sips his water and turns in his chair to look at Jordan.

"Why are you so confident that Stiles and Derek are going to get married?" Jordan finally asks as he twists his half-empty glass in his hand.

"I didn't tell you how I met my wife, did I?" Noah says as he places the water down, and Jordan frowns as he shakes his head.

Noah leans back against his chair and watches as Stiles chats easily and softly with Derek.

"I came from Beacon City, I moved here after I left the Rangers and joined the Sheriff's Department," Noah begins, setting the scene for Jordan. "I was still a rookie when my partner and I got a call out to the Preserve.

Apparently these kids had set up an illegal bonfire and were drinking beers," Noah shakes his head as he remembers.

Jordan watches him, listening intently, and Derek had gotten Stiles to quieten down so he can hear too.

"We hike out to this clearing, and there's the three teenagers," Noah remembers. "Bobby Finstock, Peter Hale and Claudia Gajos had decided to celebrate a firing of one of their teachers by making a bonfire out of their textbooks assigned to them by him," Noah shakes his head in disbelief, "and Bobby Finstock was doing this weird war dance or something when we arrived."

“Obviously, I had to give them a warning as well as a ticket. But then this beautiful woman, stood up and looked at her friend and said out loud ‘Peter, that’s the man I’m going to marry,’” Noah chuckles at the memory of a young, fiery woman Claudia was as a teenager. “I gave them all a warning, and that’s when the whole Bilinski thing started up with Bobby. And the next day, I found Claudia waiting at my desk as she demanded me to take her on a date. I knew I was a goner right then and there.”

Jordan grins at that, “She must have been some woman.”

“Oh, she definitely was. She always kept me on my toes. Her and Peter both, but then she gave birth to Stiles and it was like my son was possessed by an imp or something. The moment this kid learned how to crawl and walk, I was having grey hair.”

“Hey!” he hears Stiles shout from the kitchen.

“Love ya, kiddo. But it’s true.”

“So mean to me. Is there no love for me in my own house anymore?” Stiles throws a towel over his arm in a dramatic flair.

Derek snorts and finishes cleaning off a plate before putting it in the dishwasher.

He opens his mouth, and then freezes when he realizes what words were about to come out of his mouth.

Clearing his throat, Derek holds that part back from Stiles for now. It’s still too early in their relationship to be dropping the whole _’I love you’._

Derek knows that no human would feel love this early, that it'd only cause Stiles to panic or something and it would ruin things.

Things are alright right now, they are good, and Derek doesn't want to ruin things by dropping the 'L' word so early.

They had been together just a week, and it didn't matter that his wolf had been in love with Stiles since he first caught Stiles' scent, it doesn't matter it hadn't taken Derek more than a day of really knowing Stiles for him to fall too.

He can't expect Stiles, no matter how wonderful and how accepting he is, to feel the same so soon.

He'll bite back the words, swallow them, and wait until Stiles says them before he ever says them to Stiles.

"Come on," Stiles turns to Derek with the towel and looks expectantly at him. "Hands out, big guy, got to dry them."

Derek holds his hands out with an amused quirk of his lips as Stiles dries his hands for him like Derek isn't capable of doing that on his own.

"You are ridiculous," Derek tells him fondly, and Stiles grins up at him before pressing a kiss to Derek's now dry knuckles.

"You like that about me," Stiles tells him without hesitation, and Derek rolls his eyes, but he doesn't deny it.

Stiles brings a hand up to cover his mouth as he starts to yawn, warm food and good conversations as well as an afternoon of shopping makes him tired.

“Sleepy, already?” Derek teases him, taking the towel from Stiles’ hand and setting it down, then wraps his arms around Stiles and pulls him against his chest.

“School and shopping, as well as emotional conversations make me tired,” Stiles whines, smooshing his face to Derek’s chest, and the wolf simply chuffs over him.

“Want me to carry you to bed?”

Stiles makes a noise of indignation, “I am _not_ some damsel in distress, you can’t just pick—Derek!”

He yelps and wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulder as the man picks him up in a bridal style.

The older man smirks at Stiles’ burning cheeks, and then starts to walk towards the stairs, ignoring Noah and Jordon’s watchful eyes on him as he carries his mate up to his bed.

“You know what, I could actually get use to this kind of treatment,” Stiles says pleased with himself.

Rolling his eyes, Derek tosses Stiles onto the teenagers bed and chuckles as Stiles yells.

"Mean," Stiles pouts up at Derek, and the older teen just smirks down at him. "You staying the night or?"

Derek hesitates, glancing at the door as if expecting Noah to appear and rush him out, but then he looks back to where Stiles is laying there and waiting patiently for him to decide.

Derek hasn't spent a night without Stiles yet, and he knows that if he left right now, he'll only come back later and sneak in through the window to cuddle with Stiles.

"I'll stay," Derek decides and Stiles smiles as he sits up.

"Shall we get ready for bed then? We'll have to cuddle close tonight, my bed isn't that big after all," Stiles says as he stands and begins to undress.

Derek swallows as he watches Stiles strip down to his boxers in quick motions, and he answers in a rough tone, "That's not a hardship."

Stiles grins as he throws his clothes into the hamper before pulling back the covers and slipping in, lying on his side and waiting for Derek to join him.

Derek glances once more to the door, as if waiting for Noah to appear, and then he begins to unbutton his jeans, rolling them down his legs and kicking them off before pulling off his top.

Stiles gives a playful whistle that makes Derek glare and flush at the same time as he moves to the bed and slips in, Stiles throwing the covers over them before immediately cuddling close to him.

Derek gives a sigh as every bit of tension leeches out of him as he pulls Stiles close and nuzzles the top of Stiles' head.

"Night, Sourwolf," Stiles mutters, eyes heavy as he noses against the growing hair on Derek's chest.

"Night," Derek replies as he closes eyes, keeping his senses entuned with Stiles, the beat of his heart and the sound of him breathing as it deepens into sleep.

* * *

Stiles wakes up with strong arms wrapped around him, and a warm body against his back.

Grinning to himself, Stiles runs his hand down Derek’s arm and marvels in how hairy the man is, it’s probably a bit of a weird fascination. But Stiles truly loves how hairy Derek is, it makes him a little softer looking as well as rugged.

Squirming a little in Derek’s arms, Stiles turns his head to press a kiss to Derek’s jaw. Humming when his lips press against scruff—which is much longer than it was yesterday.

 _Soft puppy_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he continues to nose and kiss against Derek’s jaw.

The werewolf makes a groaning noise, and squeezes his arms a bit as he starts to wake up. He pulls Stiles closer against his chest and smirks when he mate makes a soft little noise.

“Morning,” Derek says in a rough, morning voice that has Stiles’ cheeks burning a little.

“Morning, Sourwolf,” Stiles turns around to wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders. “You have a good rest?”

“Yeah,” Derek throws a leg over Stiles’ hip, still feeling like he’s half asleep as he brushes his lips against Stiles’ hair. He pushes closer and then freezes when he feels his morning wood press against Stiles’ stomach, and starts to pull back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It happens to the best of us, it’s just a normal thing, Derek,” Stiles shrugs it off, and leans in to press a kiss to Derek’s lips.

“You’re gonna be late if you keep kissing me,” Derek says and yet doesn’t even try to stop his boyfriend from kissing him.

"My alarm hasn't even gone off," Stiles says as he presses kisses against Derek's scruffy jaw. "I'll be fine."

Derek hums as he tilts his head back, exposing his throat for Stiles to lavish with kisses and nips that make Derek want to press his morning wood against Stiles, but he resists the urge.

Stiles sucks firmly at the hollow of Derek's throat, and Derek can't help the groan escaping his lips as his leg tenses and pulls Stiles closer, one of Stiles' hands slipping down his body and resting on Derek's thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb as Stiles sucks with determination at Derek's neck.

Derek can feel the heat of Stiles' body against his cock, the drag of Stiles' lips up his throat, and it makes him twitch in his boxers as he resists the urge to press against Stiles and hump like a horny dog.

The alarm on Stiles' phone going off acts like a douse of cold water, and Stiles pulls back with a gasp as he rolls to turn it off. Derek takes this moment to turn, so he's lying on his stomach and can bury his face against the pillows while trying to resist the urge to hump the bed as he smells the almost sleepy arousal in the air.

Stiles almost curses as he fumbles to turn off his phone, and rolls back over onto his side to look at Derek. The older teen peeks up from where he's burying his flushed face against the pillows, and Stiles swallows thickly as it sparks another heat in his stomach.

Derek's nostrils flares as he no doubt smells the increase of Stiles' arousal, and Stiles swallows again as he flushes.

"Okay, I'll freely admit that was my fault," Stiles says as his fingers twitch to reach out and _touch_. "I'm sorry for taking it further than kissing."

Yeah, maybe it was still kissing in a way, but there's a difference between lazily morning kisses on the lips and what Stiles had been doing to Derek's neck.

“It’s okay.”

“No, Derek, I should have been—“

“Stiles. I promise, it’s okay. I really—I really liked it,” Derek admits, turning his head to hide his face. “I haven’t gotten this hard in a really long time. And I feel comfortable with you.”

“Yeah?” Stiles leans closer, pausing a minute to let his intentions be known before plastering himself against Derek’s side, blushing as his own erection presses against Derek’s hip. “I’m not gonna do anything else, I just want to touch you. You’re look amazing when you’ve just woken up.”

Derek snorts and turns his head to look at Stiles, “Half asleep, with eye boogers and messy hair? I look like a lumberjack.”

“Okay, but a really hot lumberjack! I like you like this, you’re all _soft_ , and I just want to bundle you up in warm, fluffy sweaters. Put you in front of a fire with some hot coco, and like make out or something. Maybe read a book.”

“A romantic after my own heart.”

Stiles points a finger, “I am the world’s greatest romancer, just you wait, I’m going to romance the fuck out of you.”

Derek laughs, and smiles as Stiles peppers kisses over his face, cupping the side of his face with his hand and grinning as Derek keeps laughing.

The moment is spoiled when Stiles’ alarm goes off again, and he grumbles as he pulls away to turn it off.

“Okay, time to go suffer at school for another day.”

Derek snorts as Stiles rolls out of bed, and he watches as Stiles moves over to his wardrobe.

"He robbed me!" Stiles exclaims almost as soon as he opens the doors of his wardrobe, taking in the vastly depleted wardrobe. "There's barely anything _left_."

Stiles eyes a pair of jeans he's certain he bought like two years ago, and stopped wearing about a year ago, and grumbles as he grabs them and grumbles as he takes in the hangers that once held all his plaid shirts.

"I'm really going to have to shopping again," Stiles realises with a groan. "He's taken basically my whole wardrobe."

Derek snorts, not surprised by what his mother has done to Stiles' clothes, and Stiles goes to his set of drawers and groans as he realises how many of his t-shirts Peter had deemed unsuitable and got rid of.

"I am so going to be having words with him!" Stiles informs Derek firmly as he turns to where he had left his comic store bag, and digging out his brand new Ironman t-shirt—form fitting because Lydia and Jackson would have rioted if he chose something loose and he didn't want to lose a brand new t-shirt to Peter's thieving and destroying hands. "He can't just steal my clothes because he doesn't like them!"

Derek hides his grin into his pillow as he listens to Stiles rant, Stiles grumbling as he grabs some boxers and socks from his set of drawers, and he basically stomps into the bathroom.

Derek stretches out as he turns onto his back, and he's surprised to realise he's still hard.

Derek doesn't know what to do as he hears Stiles turn on the shower in the bathroom.

Biting on his bottom lip, Derek runs his hand over his erection and holds back a moan at the touch.

He’s never felt so on edge before, and he knows it has to do with his mate’s soft, sweet scent clouding his nose.

Derek wants to, god does he really want to.

He hasn’t come in so long, hasn’t enjoyed actually having an orgasm without the self-hating feeling that eats away at him afterwards. But then the guilt hits him, he’s not being fair to Stiles, he’s being his usual _selfish_ self.

Glancing down at his erection, Derek blows air out of his mouth as he tries to will it to go away, only to startle when the bathroom door opens again.

“I can’t believe he even changed out my shampoo and conditioner! The nerve!” Stiles yells as he stomps back into the room, pausing when he sees the state Derek’s in. “Oh, was I interrupting something?”

“No,” Derek yanks his hand back and immediately wishes the bed would just swallow him right now.

He turns around so he’s on his stomach again, not wanting to see the mixture of disgust on Stiles face.

 _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could you be so fucking selfish!_ he screams at himself.

Warm hands land on the middle of his back, and Derek tenses up under the touch.

“Hey, you’re allowed to give yourself something good. You know that right?” Stiles tells him, not forcing Derek to turn around and look at him.

He shakes his head, “I’m being selfish, I shouldn’t do that. Especially not in your _bed_.”

Stiles snorts, “Dude, I was going to jerk off in the shower. It’s only fair you get to jerk off too, I don’t really care if you make a mess. As long as you enjoyed it, that’s all I care about.”

Derek shakes his head, trying to think of a way to say it's not the same, and Stiles strokes his back soothingly.

"Look," Stiles leans down and presses a kiss to Derek's bare shoulder, feeling his boyfriend shudder slightly under his lips. "I'm going back into the bathroom, I'm going to get in the shower and I'm going to jerk off before using the new shit Peter's apparently decided is better for me."

Stiles presses another kiss on Derek's other shoulder, "And you can jerk off here if you want, and I won't care if you dirty the sheets or anything because it's not like I'm going to sleeping in them, yeah? You can help me strip them afterwards if you want, but I want you to enjoy yourself, make yourself feel good if you want."

Derek turns his head so he can peek up at Stiles, "You really don't mind?"

"Mind that my incredibly amazing and unbelievably hot boyfriend is jerking off in my bed while I'm jerking off in the shower?" Stiles gives Derek a look as he strokes Derek's shoulders. "In what world would I mind about that?"

Derek flushes, and Stiles presses a kiss to Derek's cheek, "I'm going back to the bathroom, I'll be shutting the door so you'll have privacy, and you can do whatever you want, whatever you feel comfortable with, okay?"

"Okay," Derek says softly, throat feeling tight as Stiles presses another kiss to his cheek and pulls back.

Derek listens as Stiles leaves, shutting the bedroom door like he promised, and Derek listens as Stiles actually enters the shower this time, hearing the way the water slides on Stiles' skin, and he flushes as he imagines watching it, following the path of the water with his eyes and then his mouth.

He shouldn't, no matter what Stiles says.

He's just being selfish again.

But then he hears a whisper of a sigh, the sound of skin sliding against skin and then a muffled groan as he imagines Stiles taking his cock in hand.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Derek grunts when he hears Stiles getting a little louder in the shower, but not loud enough to anyone without super hearing.

Whining pitifully, Derek grips the pillow underneath him harshly as he gives himself a moment to hump against the mattress. The bed sheets still smell like Stiles earlier that morning, like that low burning of arousal—cinnamon, warm milk, and lighting—and it drives Derek over the edge.

“ _Derek_ ,” he hears Stiles say in a soft, breathy voice, and that’s it, Derek loses himself.

Lifting his head up, Derek yanks open the nightstand to grab out the bottle of lube he can smell.

Flushing when he sees the bottle is half used already, he pushes his hips up so he can pull down the boxers, gasping when his erection brushes up the fabric of the sheets, he bites on his lips again, opening the bottle and pouring the lube in his hands before slicking up his cock.

It’s only been a few minutes, a few simple touches and Derek is so fucking close. He feels like if Stiles touched him right now, he’d be a fucking goner.

“Stiles, fucking— _mate_ ,” the werewolf gasps, fucking into the tight grip of his hand as he listens to the little whimpers Stiles makes.

Stiles groans and Derek echoes it, fucking into the tight and wet grip of his hand as he buries his face against Stiles' pillow, taking greedy and deep breaths of his mate's scent.

" _Fuck_ ," Derek hears Stiles moan, the almost frantic and wet sound of skin against skin as Stiles jerks himself off, and he knows Stiles is close, he can hear it in the sound of his heart, how he's speeding up the motion of his hand over his cock, and Derek whines as he fucks harder into his grip.

It feels like forever, it feels like a second, but then he hears the most beautiful sound of Stiles whining out his name as he cums, and Derek bites down on the pillow as he spills over his hand and against the sheets, groaning as he feels his knot partly form under his touch.

Just brushing curious fingers against the swelling makes Derek jerk and another bit of cum to spill out of his cock, and Derek really has to bite down as he can't help, but explore the slight swelling that's never happened before.

The pleasure the lightest touch gives him is intense, and he almost can't imagine having it fully formed and locked in Stiles one day.

Derek groans around his mouthful of pillow as he gives a slight squeeze to the knot, the pleasure making his back arch and his toes curl as he cums again before slumping against the dirtied sheets and right into his own cum.

He has this sudden urge to rub his cum into Stiles, claiming his mate with it and making sure every wolf could tell that Stiles is _his_.

Groaning, Derek melts into the sheets, a loose hand wrapped around his cock as he waits for the small inflation of his knot to go down.

Listening to Stiles hum as he starts to wash himself now, a faint smile grows on Derek’s face when he realizes Stiles is humming the Star Wars theme song.

After a while, when he feels like he isn’t going to fall over when he stands, Derek pulls his boxers back up after cleaning himself up, and then rolls out of bed and strips it of the sullied sheets, it doesn’t take him long to find some clean sheets to put in the bed.

He puts on the clothes he was wearing yesterday, and runs a comb through his hair before making his way downstairs to fix himself and Stiles some coffee.

Pausing when he enters the kitchen and finds Noah in there, Derek swallows when the man looks up from the newspaper he’s reading.

“Morning, son. Stiles annoy you with his shower singing?” Noah settles back in his seat, picking up his coffee cup to take a sip.

“Not really. I just wanted to fix us some breakfast before he went to school,” Derek steps further into the room, ignoring the cold tile under his bare feet.

“That’s nice of you.”

Derek shrugs awkwardly, not knowing what to say to the man considering what he had just been doing, and moves to pull out everything need to make eggs and toast.

"Is Jordan still here?" Derek asks after a moment, he puts the pan on heat and adds a knob of butter to melt before he grabs a bowl to whisk a few eggs in.

"No, he went back to his motel," Noah answers, remembering the torn expression on Jordan's face as he checked in to say goodbye to Stiles and found his newly discovered brother entangled and asleep with an older teenager while barely dressed. "He needs to sort out everything there, but he's moving in today. I gave him the spare key since I'm going to busy today."

First a meeting with Melissa bout werewolves, that's going to be an interesting conversation, then he'll be going back to the station to look over Peter's files and having to double-check everything before he can even bring it to David Whittemore for arrest warrants.

Still, he's that much closer to arresting Kate Argent and making sure she spends the rest of her life in prison for what she's done.

“That’s nice,” Derek pours in the mixed eggs, and then moves to add some slices of bread into the toaster.

His head tilts to the side as he hears Stiles coming down the stairs, a smile slowly growing on his face when Stiles enters the kitchen.

“Are you making me breakfast? Ugh, you’re the greatest boyfriend in the world,” Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m making it for the both of us,” Derek corrects, tilting his head to accept the kiss.

“It’s nice to know you still love me,” Noah comments.

“Dad! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Stiles scratches at the back of his head. “Morning?”

Noah snorts, "I'm glad I know where I rank in your affections."

"You know I love you with all my heart," Stiles says as he reluctantly pulls away from Derek and moves to make them both a mug of coffee.

Noah snorts in disbelief as he looks over his mug, "And you know I know you're only doing this out of some guilt."

"You know that I love you anyway," Stiles tells him as he pours coffee into two mugs. "Despite your disturbing lack of faith in me."

"I believe I have the right amount of faith in you," Noah says dryly and making Stiles turn to him with an offend gasp.

"Betrayal," Stiles accuses as he clutches his chest. "It cuts deep."

"You didn't get your acting ability from your mother," Noah observes as he pretends to read his newspaper. "Though you did get both her and Peter's overdramatic antics."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or pleased," Stiles muses as he turns to doctor the coffee to Derek's liking, finding Derek's not so secret sweet tooth adorable.

Derek snorts as he listens to them banter as the toast pops, and he grabs them to butter them.

"Coffee for my wonderful boyfriend," Stiles says brightly as he holds out the mug he had chosen for Derek out.

Derek snorts as he takes in the howling cartoon wolves on the mug and the speech bubble saying "I howl for you! <3" on it.

"I think this was Peter's," Stiles says in a musing tone as Derek takes the mug.

Derek smiles at the goofy muggy, it was definitely something Peter would own.

Taking a sip, he pauses over the fact Stiles was able to perfectly craft the way Derek likes his coffee. It makes his heart warm, and he can’t keep away the smile on his lips as he finishes with the eggs before plating them.

He puts the toast down and adds the eggs over the toast before setting the plates on the table.

“Fuck yeah, I love having a boyfriend,” Stiles sits down, taking a huge gulp of his coffee before chowing down.

Hiding the smile on his face, Derek eats at a slower pace than his mate, enjoying the way Stiles makes a noise of delight after each bite.

“Damn, this was good,” Stiles leans back in his seat and rubs his belly.

"It was toast and eggs," Derek points out as he sips at his coffee.

"The _best_ toast and eggs," Stiles tells him firmly, and Derek rolls his eyes despite the smile hiding behind his mug.

Stiles grins at Derek, pleased by the small and pleased smile curling at Derek's lips, before he realises something and slumps in his chair.

"Oh damn, I'm not going to have Peter's lunch to look forward to today," he says with a pout.

Derek frowns slightly, wondering if he could make something up for Stiles' lunch, and then his head tilts to the side as he hears the familiar purr of Peter's car coming down the street.

"Peter's here," Derek tells them with a frown on confusion.

"When he said early, he meant it," Noah grumbles as he folds his paper in half and drops it on the table. "I'll let him in. Stiles, you go and get ready. Derek, leave the plates, okay? I'll clean them up before I leave."

"Sure," Stiles gets up from his chair, briefly stopping to press a kiss to Derek's cheek and then leaving, the sound of his stomping feet echoing as he rushes up the stairs.

Noah shakes his head as he stands up and heads for the front door, and Derek waits for a moment before stacking the plates and taking them over to the sink to rinse off before placing them into the dishwasher.

* * *

"Noah," Peter greets as Noah opens the door before either him or Allison hit the stairs. "Good morning!"

"You're early," Noah observes before nodding at Allison. "Allison, Stiles is just grabbing his stuff."

"I told you that it would have to be early," Peter reminds the older man as the Sheriff moves to the side to allow Allison to slip pass with her bag thrown over her shoulder and a bento-style box tucked under her arm. "I have a lunch appointment after all."

"And Allison?" Noah asks as Peter enters his home before him, and Noah follows.

"I thought Derek would like to drop of Allison and Stiles off like normal while we are talking with Mrs McCall," Peter says smoothly.

“Smart. Let me say goodbye to the kids and then we can leave. I think Melissa has an early shift today,” Noah nods his head.

“Hey Stiles!” Allison waves at the other teen, before coming up to wrap her arms around Derek after giving him a moment to shake his head to stop.

“Allison,” Derek huffs, wrapping an arm around her as well. “Good morning to you too.”

“What. No hugs for Stiles? What is it, nobody loves Stiles morning? For shame,” Stiles makes a fake sniff like he was crying, and it has both Allison and Derek rolling their eyes.

“Come here, loser,” Allison drags him into a hug next.

Stiles makes an offended noise, “Is that really how you’re going to speak to your Prince Charming!”

Derek snorts making Stiles squawk in offense as he pulls back from Allison, his craft store bag sways dangerously from where it's dangling on his wrist.

"I have specially prepared lunch for you by Peter!" Allison tells him as she grabs the bento-box and holding it to Stiles.

Stiles gives an excited noise as he swings his backpack around, so he can put his lunchbox into his bag, "I almost thought I would have to wait a whole day before I could eat his cooking again!"

"Why are you carting around a shopping bag?" Allison asks as she grabs the swinging bag, gasping when she sees the logo. "You went to the craft store without me?"

"They are gifts! And not for you!" Stiles twists his body, defending his bag as he zips up backpack and swings it back on his shoulder.

"And you're taking it to school?" Allison asks in disbelief as Stiles clutches at the rather sizeable bag.

"I need to make them gift-like before I can give them over," Stiles defends himself.

"So, you're taking them to school to make them gift-like?" Derek asks in deadpan, and Stiles pouts.

"They have crafty things!" Stiles continues to defend himself. "Sure, they are normally used for Art class, but as a student, I can use them to make these things look gift like!"

"I don't want to know," Noah decides as he shakes his head. "I'm going to out with Peter. Stiles, you can lock up behind me, and I'll see you either Sunday evening or Monday, alright?"

"Sure," Stiles says as he moves over to hug Noah. "Work hard and stay safe."

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" Noah asks with an amused twist to his lips as he hugs his son tightly for a moment.

“Please, I’m not the one with the dangerous job,” Stiles waves him off. “Now be safe.”

“Sure, kiddo,” Noah turns to Derek and points at him, “Be safe, son.”

“Yes, sir,” Derek nods his head, and feels himself straightening his posture.

Stiles grins and wraps his arm around Derek’s waist, “Don’t worry dad, I’ll make sure to keep this one on a tight leash.”

Everyone goes quiet at that, and it takes a minute for Stiles to realize what he’s just said.

“Oh—wait, no that’s not what I—“

Noah raises a hand, “You know what, I don’t want to know. That’s between the both of you.”

"Wait! No! I wasn't trying to imply pet-play or anything!" Stiles says as he waves his hands, and Peter snorts as he leans against the wall. "Not that I'm kink shaming! I would never kink shame anyone! Okay, maybe I would judge a little when it comes to age-play because it's kind of weird and I think it would humiliating to do that sort of thing! But to each their own! And yeah, water-sports and those sort of things makes me go eww more than anything, but I'm still not kink shaming! Just saying it's not for me!"

"I feel like I should be recording this for Lydia's enjoyment later," Allison says quietly as Noah covers his eyes with his hand.

"But no! I wasn't trying to imply pet-play or that I think Derek is a dog, because he's not! Just because he's a werewolf doesn't make him a dog!" Stiles continues as Derek doesn't know what to do as he stares at his mate's increasing and more frantic words. "I would totally jump down the throat of anyone who tries to call him that! Not that I would start a fight, Dad! I would just tell them in very strong words just what I find wrong with them, their bigotry, and their family!"

Peter cackles at that.

"Stiles, son, please," Noah says in a tone just short of begging as he holds up a hand. "You are just making it worst for yourself."

"I'm sure it's good to know a few of Stiles' hard limits though," Peter barely manages to say before he bursts into laughter again.

Stiles flushes brightly as he buries his face into his hands.

“I’m just gonna go die in a hole right now,” Stiles motions to the backside of the house. “It was nice knowing you all.”

Derek rolls his eyes, ignoring the stinging burn of his cheeks and ears as he grabs Stiles by the back of his shirt.

“You’re not going anywhere, Stiles. You still have school you need to go to,” Derek tells him, ignoring the whine Stiles makes.

“No, just let me die. I’m an embarrassment to the human species,” Stiles grumbles, smashing his face against Derek’s side so he can just melt into the man’s being.

“You’re not going to die,” turning his head, Derek leans down to press a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Not on my watch.”

“I wish I had everything recorded,” Allison snickers, earning a glare from Stiles.

"You just delight in my embarrassment, don't you?" Stiles says darkly, and Allison grins at him.

"I just wish I could show Lydia," Allison says cheerful. "I want to know if she thinks this topped the ramble in sex shop or not."

 _"ALLISON!"_ Stiles exclaims in a strangled tone and Noah shakes his head.

"I don't want to know," Noah decides firmly as he heads to the stairs. "I need to get my gun and belt, and then I'll be leaving, and I don't want to hear anything more about sex. Be it about sex shops, sex kinks or just sex in general."

"Oh, you truly are a delight," Peter grins at Stiles widely, almost wiping tears from his eyes.

"I hate you all," Stiles informs them without moving his head from Derek's side.

"Lie," the three of them chorus together, and Stiles groans.

"Go straight home after dropping them off, okay Pup?" Peter says to Derek, straightening up. "I want you to take your time and get ready for our lunch time appointment, okay?"

Derek's face blanks slightly as he nods, and Stiles glances up at him with curiosity and concern, but he doesn't ask and Derek's slightly thankful for that.

"We should be getting to school anyway," Allison says after glancing at her phone.

"I'll get my jacket and keys," Derek says as he presses a quick kiss to Stiles' forehead before pulling away and heading towards the stairs, stepping to the side as Noah comes down as he finishes getting his service belt in place.

Noah nods his farewell to Derek and walks over to Peter, briefly stopping to squeeze Stiles' shoulder.

"Alright, let's do this," Noah says to Peter as he heads towards the door.

"I hope you don't mind us taking separate cars," Peter tells him as he pulls his keys back out and following Noah.

"Course not, we both have busy days ahead of us," Noah says as he heads to his cruiser while Peter heads to his car parked just behind Derek's.

* * *

Derek comes down the stairs with his boots and jacket on, his keys in his hand, ready to drive them to school.

“You okay?” Stiles stops Derek before the man can leave the house. “You looked a little shaken earlier, when Peter mentioned the lunch appointment?”

“I’m fine. It’s our...appointment with our new therapist,” Derek explains, trying not to sound as scared as he is in this moment.

Stiles smiles, and leans over to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“I’m proud of you,” he tells the older man.

“I haven’t even done anything,” The werewolf raises an eyebrow at Stiles, following his mate down the steps and to the Camaro where Allison is already waiting.

“What? I can’t be proud of you for taking the next steps into recovering by seeing a therapist? Of course, I’m gonna be proud of you, you’re stronger than you think you are Derek,” and with that, Stiles gets into the passenger seat of the car.

Staring at the younger man silently, Derek turns his head to blink away the tears threading to spill before getting into the car.

“Come on losers, we’re gonna be late,” Allison says from the back seat.

"Did you watch Mean Girls last night?" Stiles asks as he belts himself in and Derek does the same before starting the car.

"What gave it away?" Allison asks curiously, and Stiles twists to give her a look.

"The addition of losers and loser to your sentences ," Stiles informs her and Allison grins a little sheepishly. "It kind of gives it away."

"Peter hadn't seen it," Allison shrugs as she leans back against her seat. "I just had to correct that."

Stiles snorts as he turns back to face the front, "Did you know that before you started the movie or after?"

"After," Allison admits easily. "He came in part way and decided to stay. Dad eventually joined us when it became clear that Peter wasn't going to join him."

"So, Peter gave up sex with Chris to watch Lindsay Lohan descend into the depths of a stereotypical popular girl hell while going head to head with Rachel McAdams?" Stiles blinks and shakes his head. "Wow."

"You actually remember a name apart from Lindsay Lohan?" Allison asks in an impressed tone, and Stiles makes a sound of offense.

"Really? Have you forgotten just who I am?" Stiles scoffs. "Of course I know more than Lindsay Lohan. Lindsay Lohan, Rachel McAdams, Lacey Chabert, Amanda Siegfried, Lizzy Caplan, Daniel Franzese, Jonathan Bennett—"

"You realise that you are sprouting meaningless names apart from Lindsey Lohan and Amanda Siegfried," Derek says dryly making both Allison and Stiles gasp.

"You haven't watched Mean Girls, have you?" Allison asks in a completely shocked tone, and Stiles pats Derek's arm.

"We'll correct that, don't worry," Stiles says in a reassuring tone.

"Please don't," Derek pleads quietly, glancing over at Stiles. "I don't really need to see something like that."

"It's has its own cult following," Allison tells him as she leans forward. "It's part of modern day pop culture."

"Wait, how did you even _know_ Amanda Siegfried’s name?" Stiles asks in some disbelief and suspicion. "That was her film debut!"

Derek stays suspiciously quiet.

" _You_ watched Veronica Mars!" Stiles accuses in disbelief and glee.

“Maybe.” Derek shrugs, ignoring the noise Stiles makes.

“I’m going to pull ever little nerd fact out of you, if it’s the last thing I do,” Stiles tells him, “I have a nerdy jock boyfriend, who pretends he’s a goth jock.”

“What?”

“Like Edward Cullen?”

Stiles spins around to point at Allison, “He is _exactly_ like Edward Cullen, but minus the stalking and weird vampire court bullshit.”

_“What?”_

“Oh please, I know you’ve at least _heard_ of Twilight,” Stiles rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

“No. Doesn’t sound familiar,” Derek shrugs, which gets an affronted noise from both Stiles and Allison.

“Movie Marathon, this weekend,” Allison announces as Derek parks the car. “The Hale’s, Stiles and my dad and me! It’ll be fun.”

"Jackson is being bitten this weekend," Stiles reminds her. "We may not have time to watch movies, you know, with all the stopping him from going on a little rampage."

"Jackson isn't going on a rampage," Derek tells them as he turns off the engine as he realises they aren't rushing out of his car. "A movie marathon may help him learn to adjust to his senses."

"Really?" Stiles asks with some disbelief. "Cause Scott was quite ragey those first few days."

"Because he didn't have his Alpha or a Pack around him," Derek explains patiently making Stiles nod with some understanding.

"Movie Marathon!" Allison cheers from the back.

"You have school," Derek reminds them.

"Good luck today," Stiles says as he leans over to press a kiss to Derek's cheek. "See you later."

"See you after school," Allison says as she opens the door and scoots out with her bag while Stiles has to gather his plastic shopping bag and backpack before fumbling to open the door.

Allison laughs as she opens the door for him, and immediately takes Stiles' arm when the other teen is steady and has thrown his backpack over his shoulder.

"Let's go," Allison tugs as she spots Lydia and Jackson near the doors and waiting for them.

"Do not tell them about this morning," Stiles begs as Derek turns his key and his engine purrs to life before the older teen pulls out of the carpark.

"But it's so funny," Allison giggles, and Stiles shakes his head.

"How could I have been so stupid to believe your Disney Princess looks?" Stiles asks himself. "You are so evil underneath it."

“It’s a good thing no one would believe you if you told them,” Allison gives him a wink.

“What are we giggling about now?” Jackson huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks Stiles up and down. “Well, at least the pants fit you.”

“Oh you know, girl stuff,” Stiles lies, earning a cackle from Allison.

“I doubt you’d know the first thing about girl stuff, Stiles,” Lydia says truthfully as she comes around to join the group, giving Allison a smile, and the brunette and reaching over to lace their fingers together.

Neither Stiles or Jackson comment, both boys looking at each other and giving one another an identical look.

“Come on, we need to get to class and I need to grab some stuff from my locker,” Stiles jostles his backpack up higher on his shoulders. “Let’s go Blondie!”

"Blondie?" Jackson repeats with a splutter as he follows Stiles. " _Blondie?_ Really?"

"Hey, I'm not the blonde of the group," Stiles smirks as Jackson nudges him, and he makes sure they are out of hearing distance from the girls before continuing. "So, when do you think Lydia's going to break up with you, so she can be with Allison?"

"No idea," Jackson admits with an easy shrug as he falls in step beside Stiles. "She'll probably do it in a way that everyone knows by lunch that I was dumped by Lydia Martin."

"Because no one dumps Lydia, she dumps them," Stiles says knowingly with a nod.

Jackson snorts in agreement as they end up at Stiles' locker and he watches with a raised eyebrow as Stiles fumbles with the craft store bag as he tries to swing his backpack across his front to exchange his books.

"Is there a reason you are carting around a craft store bag?" Jackson asks as he leans against the locker next to Stiles.

"They are gifts," Stiles grits out before cheering as he unlocks his locker.

"And you brought them to school, why?" Jackson asks as he watches the performance of Stiles exchanging his books.

"Because I can't just give them like they are!" Stiles shakes his head at the sheer lack of understanding everyone around him has. "I need to make them gift-like before I give them out."

"Of course, how could I be so stupid not to think that?" Jackson drawls in a tone that proves he is a Hale. "So, you brought them to school to make them more gift-like _how_?"

"The art class supplies," Stiles tells him in a duh tone as he zips up his bag.

"You're going to _steal_ from the art class supplies?" Jackson asks in disbelief, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"The art supplies are for the students of this school," Stiles reminds him as he turns to Jackson. "And last I checked, I'm a student of this school and thus entitled to said supplies. So, you'll have to walk to class with Danny because I may be late."

"Because you are stealing supplies."

“I’m not stealing if they’re already giving it out. Jesus, Jackson,” Stiles shakes his head and closes his locker. “Now, go to class I need to go work on this before the end of the day.”

“Shouldn’t you be heading to class as well?” Jackson raises an eyebrow.

“I sent an email to my teachers explaining I was going to be missing class because of an after school project,” Stiles shrugs, “Not that Harris is going to care, he’ll probably give me extra work.”

“You’re not in any other after school activity,” Jackson tilts his head to the side. “At least, not that I know about. Have you been keeping secrets from me?”

“No. The only activity I’m doing after school is lacrosse and track, or detention. But that’s because Harris is an asshole,” Stiles pulls his backpack back into his shoulders, and winces a little when the bell rings. “Try not to start anything while I’m away.”

Jackson gawks at that, “Shut the fuck up, Stiles! I’m not the one starting fights.”

“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you,” Stiles laughs as he walks down the halls to the art classroom.

* * *

Lydia gives a look to Jackson and Stiles' retreating backs.

"I see that Stiles is as subtle as ever," Lydia remarks dryly making Allison laugh. "I'm surprised that he and Scott were actually able to hide everything for everyone."

"Knowing the truth? A lot of things make a lot of sense now," Allison admits as they head into the school.

"To be fair, no one is truly expecting the truth," Lydia admits almost grudgingly as they head to their lockers.

She would have never even thought about werewolves if one hadn't stared her right in the face before Stiles dropped the 'werewolves are real' bombshell.

"True," Allison admits wryly as she opens up her locker and exchanges her books, being careful of her lunchbox.

Lydia waits for Allison, having exchanged her books earlier before Allison and Stiles arrived.

There's a whisper, the words too soft for her to hear, and Lydia frowns as she tries to find it.

"Right," Allison turns to Lydia with a smile. "Let's get to class."

Lydia doesn't say anything, her gaze searching the crowd as that insistence whisper captures her attention and she tries to find it.

"Lydia?" Allison touches her shoulder, and Lydia looks at her with a somewhat distance gaze. "What's wrong?"

"Can't you hear that?" Lydia asks with a frown as she tries to pinpoint where it’s coming from.

"Hear what?" Allison tries to focus, tries to find something that isn't normal sounds from the other students.

" _That_ ," Lydia scowls as she strides in the direction its coming from, Allison on her heels and watching her worriedly. "If this is some stupid prank by some stupid freshmen, I swear I'm going to make the next two years a living hell for them."

"I don't hear anything," Allison tells her as she hurries to flank Lydia. "Lydia, what is it your hearing?"

"This stupid and _annoying_ whisper," Lydia grits out before her eyes narrows on a door. "From _here_."

She throws open the door and stumbles to a stop as she stares in horror.

"Oh my god."

Lydia covers her mouth with her hand to stop the scream that’s creeping out from her throat.

The room is dark, eerily so, like something out of a horror movie and Lydia knows she’d be too smart to be the first one killed in a horror movie.

But the _whispers_ they called to her, tugged her through the halls like she was a puppet to their whims. And when she had opened the door she was expecting...

“Mr. Harris?” she steps closer to the man in the chair. “Mr. Harris are you— _Oh my god!”_

There was a dripping sound, and it grated on her nerves. Annoyed her. Agitated her. It was like it was coming from every direction.

At first she thought it was because there was a leaky pipe in the room.

She hadn’t expected it was because Mr. Harris was sitting in a pool of his own blood.

“I’m call the police,” Allison’s voice cuts through Lydia’s frozen state. “Lydia, Lydia look away. I’m calling the police.”

She couldn’t look away though, because the whispers were loud, and they were telling her something. They were _warning_ her.

_Danger. There’s something dangerous coming. Run._

* * *

The art classes in Beacon High were all contained on the first level, and its own separate area with wider windows for more light, the theatre and the music rooms.

Stiles hadn't been in the 'art hall' as the students call it since his freshmen year as Stiles hadn't elected to take any of the more arty classes this year.

But it still feels like stepping into another world, what with the students lugging around instrument cases instead of sports equipment, carting massive sketchbooks around instead of piles of text books, and he's pretty sure he's just passed two juniors bantering in Shakespearian English.

Stiles is pretty sure he could walk the hallway for hours and find something interesting to watch and listen to, but Stiles is also on a mission.

And the mission is to get one of the art class rooms, speak nicely to the teacher, get his supplies and make the bunch of craft stuff look like proper gifts instead of silly impulse buys for no reason.

He knocks on the half open door where he can hear students murmuring before he steps in.

Immediately, Stiles wishes he could subtly step back into the safety of hiding behind the door as a dozen highly curious and intent eyes swing his way.

“Wow, you have really good cheekbones,” A girl comments, the first one out of all of them to say anything.

“Uh, thanks? I just need to use the crafting supplies,” Stiles points at where the wall of art supplies is sitting there, calling to him.

“Oh sure,” The girl says again, her eyes watching Stiles as he walks over to the supply wall.

It’s a little unsettling the way the students keep watching him, and it makes Stiles hunch in on himself a little bit, pulling out a handful of wrapping paper, string and what not before setting it to the side.

“So, have you ever thought about modelling before?”

“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Stiles backs himself against the wall, a hand over his fast beating heart.

It's the girl again, watchful brown eyes blinking at him innocently and her hair streaked with a vivid pink that Stiles is certain isn't actually allowed in the school's bylaws—not that anyone actually seems to either bother to read them or enforce them.

"Sorry," she says without looking very sorry, and Stiles is really regretting this idea of his. "But have you?"

"Have I what?" Stiles asks warily, watching those brown eyes scan his face with something in its dark depths that makes the lizard part of his brain still and say, 'don't move, she can't see you if you don't move.'

"Thought about modelling," she says promptly without introducing herself. "Your cheekbones are amazing."

"No? I didn't think I'd suit it," Stiles answers, eyes zeroing on the twitch of her hand as if she's stopping herself from reaching out and touching him.

"It's not just his cheekbones," an unfamiliar male voice pipes up _way_ too close, and Stiles almost yelps as he presses himself closer against the wall.

A guy stood on Stiles' other side, his blindside when Stiles had been watching Pink warily, and Stiles dubs him Pierce due to his lip piercing and the multiple piercings in his ears shown off by his undercut hairstyle.

"Have you _seen_ his hands?" Pierce asks her as he ignores all social norms and just _reaches_ out for Stiles' hand and holding his limp wrist up. "Could you spread your fingers for me?"

Taken off guard by the unfamiliar touch and the almost polite question, Stiles does, and Pink makes an oh sound as she leans in close.

“I’m starting to get a weird feeling about this,” Stiles comments, but his voice goes unheard as both Pink and Pierce drag him to the middle of the room.

“Here take off your jacket and sit on the stool,” Pink says as she pulls up a tall wooden stool for him to sit on.

“Sure...” Stiles tugs off his jacket and blushes when he hears a few gasps from the classroom.

“Oh my god, your arms are perfect,” another student comments before pulling up her sketchbook and starts to scribble in it like a mad scientist.

“Try and strike a pose—actually you know what stay right there. Perfect. Now turn your head a little to the—yes! Okay, just stay right there!” Pierce runs back to his desk and pulls out his own sketch book.

 _This is not how I imagined my morning going_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he stays still as long as he can while everyone sketches him.

"Err, you know I just wanted to use your craft supplies," Stiles says only to get shushed by the students.

 _Perhaps the teacher will put a stop to this?_ Stiles hopes to himself as he sits, feeling uncomfortable by the intent stares focusing on every part of him.

Whatever thoughts and hopes he had about the teacher putting a stop to this weird modelling moment is dashed almost as soon as the woman walks through the door and gives him an approving look.

"Excellent, a live model is so much better than simple wooden figures," she says as she circles him much like a lioness would her pray. "And what a model."

Stiles thinks he would have freaked out, taken his chances and run for his life if he even sensed a bit of sexual interest in the teacher's voice, but it's clinical more than anything as she stares at him, as if she's rending him to his basic shapes and deciding he's acceptable.

She nods at him one last time before moving to circle behind her students, leaning over their shoulders and murmuring something as she carefully points out something or over on their sketchbooks.

Stiles takes one last longing glance at his craft supplies and the plastic bag on the table at the back, before keeping his position.

“Could you turn your face back to the classroom?” the teacher asks.

“Sure?” Stiles turns his head back and waits another while before trying to get up. “Look, I just needed to finish this gift for my boyfriend.”

“Oh, that’s perfect, we can practice quick gestures while you work,” The teacher smiles.

“Okay, sure, sure. Whatever helps with the artistic process,” Stiles gets up, pausing as if he’s afraid she’s gonna snap at him to sit back down.

But the students just flip to a new page and keep sketching.

 _Just act like nothings happen_ , Stiles thinks to himself.

Stiles walks slowly, hesitantly, and the eyes follow him as the students turn in their seats.

 _I now have greater respect and sympathy for zoo animals_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he settles back in his chair, trying to ignore the eyes as he unpacks the plastic bag of crafty goods.

He splits the four sketchpads into two piles of two sketchpads, places the charcoal on one of the piles and the sketch-pencils on the other as he thinks Peter wouldn't want to get his expensive clothing dirty with charcoal.

The balls of plain wool is likewise split in two—dark green and black going on the pile with the charcoal and dark red and cream going on the case of sketch pencils.

He glances between the knitting needles and the crochet hook as he chews on his lips, ignoring the flash of someone's camera phone going off as if they are capturing his expression, and he places the knitting needles on Derek's pile and the crochet hook on Peter's pile as he thinks Peter would enjoy the challenge of crocheting.

He adds the little booklets telling the basics either knitting or crocheting on the right pile before turning to the block of modelling clay that he thinks Derek would maybe like and placing it beside Derek's pile of things.

He spreads out the plain coloured wrapping paper—Stiles is obviously not the first one to wrap their gifts at school—and adjust the two pieces he had chosen—blue for Derek and red for Peter—before laying out the pale blue tissue paper on top of the wrapping paper squares.

Stiles grimaces as he realises how careful he'll have to be to not rip the paper when he places everything on to the tissue paper.

The sound of pencils on paper is strangely soothing as Stiles transfers the piles bit by bit, trying not to make everything too hard to wrap.

"Maybe you should wrap the sketch supplies separately," Pink suggests, and Stiles purses his lips slightly as he realises she probably had the right idea.

"Right, more supplies then," Stiles nods.

Doing as he’s told, Stiles wraps the sketchbooks separately and everything else is neatly separated as well. Pink helps him and he gives her a small smile in thanks while they both work on wrapping everything up.

When it’s finished, Stiles looks down at his hands and cringes as he sees the mess he’s made.

“I’ll clean it up,” Stiles tells the class, and starts moving his gifts into a nice new gift bag. Two different coloured ones, blue for Derek and red for Peter, hoping the two wolves will enjoy the gift he’s gotten for them.

“I hope your boyfriend likes his gifts,” Pink tells him with honesty, “Also thanks for letting us use you as a model, we don’t get a lot of good models just walk right into our classroom. So it was a nice way to practice.”

“Oh sure. Although I’m not even sure I was doing it correctly half the time,” Stiles shrugs.

“Trust me. You were perfect. I’m a bit disappointed you’re already taken, but hey good for you. And if you ever want to go into modelling we do some classes down at the art store,” Pierce comes over and hands Stiles a business card, and a wink. “Call if you’re interested.”

"Thank you?" Stiles' voice lilts up questioningly as he takes the card, slightly flustered as Pierce gives him an obvious once over with a smirk before going back to his sketchbook. "I'll...just clean up...now...."

Pink smiles at him, eyes still tracing his face as if she's imprinting it into her mind to draw later.

Stiles doesn't know if he's enjoyed his time with the art students or if he will now have a slight, but irrational fear of art students from this day forth.

Stiles tidies up, putting away the supplies he either didn't use or those that can be put back and throwing away the discarded bits of paper and all that in the bin, as well as scrunching up the plastic bag and throwing it away.

He's about to put his backpack on and grab his two bags to safely stow in his locker till the end of the day when it seems everyone's phone explodes with texts.

"Oh my god," Pink says as Stiles fumbles for his phone. "Mr Harris is dead!"

* * *

When Melissa opens up the front door to her house, she’s expecting to see Noah.

What she’s not expecting is for ex-coma patient Peter Hale to be standing right behind Noah, with a look on his face like she’s about to receive bad news.

She steps back to let both the men into her house and leads them to her living room.

Noah opens his mouth, but she’s already interrupting, “Is this about Scott? Did he do something?”

“No nothing like that, Mel. Made you should sit down for this,” Noah tells her comfortingly.

Nodding her head, she takes a seat but every muscle in her body is tensed and ready to jump.

“This is going to sound crazy, and I know you’re not going to believe it from the start, but you have to believe me. When have I ever lied to you?”

She raises an eyebrow, “Never. But now I’m starting to wonder what you’re about to say. Is—is Scott involved in something? Gangs? _Drugs!_ ”

“Nothing like that! You see it’s—“

“Werewolves,” Peter interrupts.

Melissa stares at Peter for a moment in blank uncomprehending confusion before looking at Noah almost helplessly, "What?"

"Werewolves," Noah confirms with a sigh, and Melissa stares at them like they are crazy.

"You're crazy," Melissa says blankly. "Werewolves aren't real."

Peter gives a sigh before cracking his neck and lets the shift take over him making Melissa jump in shock and stare at the red eyes, pronounced brow, the broadened nose and the fangs peeking out.

"Werewolves," Peter confirms with a fang baring grin that makes Melissa feel somewhat faint as Noah sighs next to him.

"You really don't believe in breaking things gently, do you?" Noah ask dryly as Peter pulls the shift back to human.

"It wastes both time and patience in my experience," Peter remarks smoothly as he leans back against the couch.

"Werewolves?" Melissa asks weakly before her tones turns slightly hysteric. "My son is a werewolf?"

"At least it's not a gang or drugs?" Noah offers as Melissa slumps and places her head in her hands.

"My son is a werewolf because werewolves are real," she mutters into her hands before looking up sharply. "How the hell is my son a werewolf?"

"Before anything else is said," Peter cuts in a bit hastily. "I would like it to be noted that I was insane and had no idea what I was doing."

"You _bit_ my son?!" Melissa doesn't realise she's on her feet until she finishes shouting the question out. "What the hell?"

Melissa picks up the biggest object she finds near her-a heavy weighted book she left out to read, and is about to throw it at Peter in her rage, before freezing.

Peter actually flinches back from her quick movement and it makes her pause, she realizes what she’s doing is a tad bit eccentric.

She knows she wants to hit Peter—how dare this man _bite_ her son and turn him into-into a _werewolf!?_ —But she already remembers being Peter’s nurse.

It was right after the fire, but also before.

She remembers a young, jubilant Peter waltzing into the nurses section and asking to speak with a nurse.

Melissa had been the one to take the man into a private room, rolling her eyes at this teenage boy who looked like he was going to ask her something ridiculous.

But instead asked her about vitamins to take when pregnant, the best way to treat morning sickness and general things about a woman’s condition when she was pregnant.

At first, Melissa had thought this was a long winded joke, but she watched the man before her closes and saw the underline nervousness as Peter kept asking questions.

For a while she had thought Peter had accidentally gotten a woman pregnant and was trying to find the best way to take care of her—not that it ended well. Because then she remembered Peter getting sent to Eichen House.

And then after that the fire, where Melissa was Peter’s nurse for the first year or two after the incident.

Melissa inhales deeply, calming herself down forcefully as she puts down the book on the coffee table before sitting herself back down on the armchair.

Both men watch her warily, Peter almost half-hiding behind Noah, and Melissa takes another deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Melissa finally says as she looks at Peter. "I shouldn't have done that."

"To be fair," Peter says quietly, blue gaze dropping to eye the book. "I _did_ bite your son while you stopped yourself from throwing the book."

"Yes, well," Melissa clears her throat, not wanting to rage at him just yet. "I'd like you to explain, and explain _everything_."

"Certainly," Peter agrees easily, quickly as Noah tries to subtly move the book out of her reach. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did you bite my son?" Melissa asks sharply, unable to remove any of the sharpness or frostiness from there as she stares down the younger man.

"I both didn't mean and mean to at the same time," Peter admits making Melissa give him a look of confusion. "Like I said earlier, I wasn't in my right mind. I was basically insane, just recently gained the Alpha power and I needed a Pack. Scott was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Alpha power?" Melissa questions in confusion, not sure how to tackle what he just said about her son being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Werewolves have a visible social hierarchy," Peter begins to explain. "It's visible by the colour of our eyes. Gold and blue indicate Beta, which is the most numerous of us and make up most of our Pack. Red," Peter lets his eyes bleed to the glowing red shade that marks him as an Alpha, "is for Alpha's, they lead the Packs and are the only ones that can turn a human. There is a third group, known as Omega's, that are Packless werewolves and are more likely to turn Feral. Scott has chosen to be Omega, but I have made it clear to him that he's also my responsibility as I both bit him and I'm the Alpha of this territory."

"What does that mean?"

“It means if he were to go feral and lose control of himself, thus rampaging through the town I would have to take responsibility of his actions. And the hunters in town would probably hunt him down for sport or use him as an excuse to kill me,” Peter explains nonchalantly.

“You seem so sure that this _won’t_ happen,” Melissa raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, I know Scott can be very stubborn. He’s a teenager after all, but he forgets I had to deal with three teenagers while living with Talia, so I know a thing or two about dealing with them,” Peter waves a hand, “Scott is young, and he has potential to do great things. But his stubbornness and near-sighted view on the world is what is holding him back, as well as his obsession with a certain young Argent girl.”

“I thought Allison and him were doing good?”

“They broke up a few days ago.”

Melissa covered her gasp with a hand, “Oh shit. I can’t believe I didn’t even notice, he was acting so angry earlier and I just—I’ve been so busy. I’m a terrible mother.”

Before Noah can jump to defend her, he’s shocked to see Peter stepping up and sitting down next to Melissa. He takes one of her hands in his own and stares into the woman’s eyes, his own full of understanding.

“I will tell you one thing, Melissa. You are a wonderful mother who still loves and cherished her son, you’re a hard working woman as well. I know it’s not easy being a nurse, especially not in a town where people get mysteriously murdered left and right,” Peter chuckles at his own dark humor. “You’re not a terrible mother, it’s not your fault you didn’t know. Scott kept this from you and he’s an angry teenager, I’m not trying to blame him either. But I am saying communication hasn’t been his obvious choice when it comes to trying to fix his problems.”

"I've tried to talk to him," Melissa says trying not sniffle like a silly child. "But he keeps shutting me out."

"Perhaps he felt like he couldn't talk with you since the bite," Peter suggests, only slightly doubtfully. "If he knew that you know, he may open up to you."

Personally, Peter is rather doubtful of it.

Scott isn't a bad person per say, he's just a typical extremely selfish and self-centred teenager, and most teenagers were annoying, self-centred, and impossible to talk to on a good day.

"Maybe," Melissa agrees before scrubbing her hands over eyes before looking at Peter. "You were saying about hunters, what does that mean?"

"People who know about us don't always accept us," Peter tells her as he keeps himself perched on the armrest. "These people sometimes decide to hunt us down like animals. Certain families have built up a reputation of being hunters of the supernatural, mostly werewolves."

"And there's these werewolf hunters in town?" Melissa asks worriedly. "Who are they?"

Peter chuckles as he shakes his head, "You'll not believe this."

"Peter, I just found out that werewolves exist and that my son is a werewolf," Melissa says a bit dryly. "I don't think there's many things I wouldn't believe right now."

"The Argent family," Peter tells her, and Melissa gapes slightly.

"Argent as in Allison?" Melissa questions and Peter nods. "Argent as in Allison, Scott's ex-girlfriend?"

Slightly amused, Peter nods again.

"You're right, I almost don't believe it," Melissa scrubs a hand over her face. "Please don't tell me that Scott knew."

"Not at the beginning, but soon enough, yes he knew," Peter answers.

“This all sounds like a horrible teen drama,” Melissa comments.

Peter snorts, thinking about the fact that Stiles had commented almost the same thing not that long ago.

“You’re going to have to tell me a lot more about this _werewolf_ stuff, because I have questions,” Melissa tells the Alpha.

“Oh, that I have no doubt, Stiles had a plethora of questions when he first found out. So I just gave him a bunch of books to keep him occupied instead of spending six hours answering his wild questions,” Peter comments.

“I’m honestly not that surprised Stiles also knows, sometimes I think that boy is too smart. He could run the whole town if he wanted to, thank god I’m not on his bad side.”

That has three of the adults chuckling.

"What else do you want to know?" Peter asks her as he moves back to the couch and Noah finally relaxes.

"How long have you been a werewolf?" Melissa asks as she leans forward with interest.

"All my life," Peter answers candidly. "I was born a werewolf, most members of my family were werewolves."

Melissa isn't stupid, she remembers what Peter said about Hunters.

"The fire, it was because you were werewolves?" Melissa asks softly, feeling horror run through her.

"Yes," Peter says after his lips thin, his hand twitching as if he's about to touch the right side of his face that's twisted with burn scars.

"I'm sorry," Melissa tells him honestly, and Peter inclines his head. "So, I suppose Derek is also a werewolf?"

"Yes," Peter hesitates a moment and licks his lips almost nervously before steeling himself. "My son is a werewolf."

Melissa blinks in confusion as Noah places a hand on Peter's arm.

"I thought he was your nephew," Melissa says hesitantly, glancing at Noah.

"Yes," Peter says tightly. "That's what my sister preferred to have the world believe, instead of knowing that her husband was a rapist and enjoyed raping her younger brother. A child from such a thing would have only embarrassed and shame her."

Melissa gasps as she stares at Peter, "Oh my god."

"And yes, born werewolf males can get pregnant and have children," Peter adds as if it's an afterthought.

"That's why you asked those questions about pregnancy," Melissa realises, still frozen with horror.

"I had to do whatever I could to ensure my baby's health," Peter says simply.

“That’s horrible, Peter,” Melissa sets a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Usually, when people say they’re sorry it ticks me off. But knowing my sister and her wretched husband are dead, I honestly couldn’t care because my worries and problems have been taken care of. I’m just said I couldn’t have given the final blow.”

“But not the trauma,” Noah comments.

Hunching his shoulders up, Peter glares at the officer, “Yes, well don’t worry about that. I have an appointment with a therapist for both Derek and I around lunch time.”

“Huh. I almost wasn’t expecting you to call a therapist. You don’t seem like the man who admits he’s hurt.”

"I did say I was looking into getting a therapist," Peter reminds him as he continues to glare at the older man.

"Saying is a lot different from doing," Noah shrugs, not bothered by the werewolf glaring at him. "I thought you would put it off and insist you were fine."

Peter turns his glare to his clasped hands, and admits through gritted teeth, "You aren't exactly wrong in your assessment. I've pushed away what happened to me, ignored it for years and have had more trauma heaped on top."

Peter takes a deep breath before he continues, "Unfortunately, I've come to the realisation that I can't push it away any longer nor can I pretend that I am fine.

Not only would it have set a terrible example for Derek and dealing with his own issues and trauma, but I can no longer lie that I am fine in anyway. I-I've been having flashbacks, and emotional outbursts. I've not hurt anyone, but I _could_ , and I've scared people, I've scared _Derek_."

"You've found someone that can help you with all this?" Melissa asks as she strokes his shoulder comfortingly. "Even with all the werewolf stuff?"

Peter chuckles slightly, "Yes, the therapist I called is an old....friend. She's well aware of the supernatural world as she's part of it herself. She's willing to be our therapist and is moving her family here to make things easier for us all."

"She must be a good friend then," Melissa says, and Peter smirks.

"I think I just impressed her well enough when we first met and gained her respect during our friendship," he corrects Melissa.

“That does sound like something you’d do,” Noah shakes his head, sitting up when he hears his phone go off, standing up he leaves the room to answer the call, as he notes it’s from work.

Peter tilts his head to the side and frowns when he listens into the conversation.

“Oh my, that’s going to make for an interesting morning,” Peter comments.

Melissa gives Peter a look, and the both of them turn when Noah enters the room again.

“There’s been a dead body at the school,” Noah informs them both. “I have to go into work, sorry to leave this meeting so early.”

“Oh, no worries, Noah,” Melissa waves him off, “I’m just glad I was finally told the truth, I feel like I’ve been running in imaginary circles this month.”

“Ah, I’m glad too,” Peter gives her a smirk, “Because if Scott causes any trouble than you can give your son a good talking.”

"Be aware that the school may be letting out early," Noah warns them, looking more at Peter than Melissa.

Peter purses his lips slightly as he thinks before slipping out his phone, "I'll text Chris to be ready if Allison texts. I'd rather have Derek stay up and getting ready for our meeting then worrying about Stiles."

"Chris? As in Chris _Argent_?" Melissa asks in some disbelief.

"Yes, he's my mate or partner in human terms," Peter smiles briefly as he sends off a quick text to Chris.

**User: Dead body has been found at the school, don't worry it's not anyone important. Kids may have to be picked up early, get Allison to text you if so. How's Derek doing? He is getting ready, right?**

"How did that happen?" Melissa asks, sensing loads of gossip, and Peter looks up with a smirk.

"Well, it all started when I was sixteen," Peter begins, and Noah rolls his eyes as he leaves them to gossip.

* * *

Entering the apartment, Peter tugs off his jacket and hangs it up before walking into the place further. Glancing around, the suspiciously quiet apartment, Peter tilts his head and listens in on the two heartbeats.

Derek sounds fine, like he’s in his room reading or working on something so Peter plans to check on him later.

Hearing Chris’s slow tempo heartbeat, Peter follows it to the master bedroom where he finds his mate still in bed, sleeping away the day, and usually Peter would make a comment or a snappy joke but seeing his mate comfortable and safe makes his heart clench around itself. Stepping further into the room, he walks over to the side Chris is sleeping on and sits down on the edge of the mattress.

Smiling, Peter reaches up to brush away Chris’s hair from his forehead, marvelling at the fact that he can touch his mate without any consequences.

Chris grumbles and shifts a little in his sleep, before blinking awake.

“Pumpkin, where’d you go?” he slurs sleepily.

“Out. I had a meeting with Noah and Melissa about a few things, and I’ll be out again with Derek later,” Peter tells him, smiling as Chris turns his head to the side to rub his face against the palm of Peter’s hand. “Enjoying your time of being a lazy kept man?”

He’s only teasing, and yet the idea of having Chris be his kept boy—kept mate? Whatever—pleases his wolf greatly. Peter would love to keep Chris in his room and lavish the man with food and jewels, kissing over that rough skin all day and night.

Chris hums slightly, his eyes still heavy with sleep but slowly becoming more alert, as he rubs the rasp of his morning scruff against Peter's palm.

"I need to do something about that," Chris murmurs to himself, turning more into Peter's hand to press a kiss to his palm.

"What? Don't like the idea of being my kept man? Of lounging around in bed all day, naked and ready for me to have my wicked way with," Peter says as he leans closer, feeling a spark of want warming his stomach. "I'd spoil you with food, sex and maybe even jewels."

"Jewels?" Chris questions in an amused tone, another kiss pressed to the soft skin of Peter's palm. "And how would you do that?"

"Maybe you could get your nipples pierced," Peter suggests as he uses his other hand to teasingly pinch at one dusky nipple, and Chris arches with hitch to his breathing. "It apparently makes your nipples even more sensitive."

"Come here," Chris says thickly with something other than sleep, tugging at Peter, and Peter smirks as he moves himself so he's hovering slightly over his mate.

Chris reaches up and pulls him down into a kiss.

“If you guys have sex, I’m coming in there to throw cold water on you both,” Derek growls from his bedroom, making Peter snort.

“Something funny?” Chris asks with amusement lacing his voice.

“Just my son not wanting to be a part of our sex life and hear everything,” Peter snickers.

“Oh,” Chris’s cheeks burn with embarrassment because how could he have forgotten there was another werewolf in the apartment? It must be awful for Derek to have to hear them both, and he should really put a stop to this.

“Mmm, we’ll just have to continue later when he’s gone,” Peter leans down again to kiss against Chris’s scruffy chin, humming when he spots some silver in the hair. “You’re starting to go a little silver, Christopher. Should I be worried about you keeping up with me in bed?”

“Of course not,” Chris says, completely forgetting about the fact Derek was in another room, he pulls Peter down, so the younger man is pressed up against his body, and smirks when the werewolf presses against his erection. “I know exactly how to keep a brat like you in place.”

Peter groans, and captures Chris’s lips again, “I’m sure you do, but I’m not the same little lovesick teenager I was,” placing a hand on Chris’s chest to hold him down, letting his eyes bleed red, “Because now, _I’m the Alpha_.”

Chris shudders under his hand, staring up at him with dark eyes and the scent of arousal increases.

"You like that, don't you?" Peter says with a smirk, leaning down to run his nose against Chris' neck. "Like being completely at the mercy of me."

" _Peter_ ," Chris bares his throat to him, and Peter growls as he presses his teeth against Chris' throat. "Please."

Peter chuckles darkly, licking and sucking at Chris' neck, and making the older man shudder under him with a moan.

"I love you like this," Peter admits as he pulls back to the vocal disappointment of Chris and pulls down the covers to reveal Chris' naked body. "All needy and eager for me, acting so submissive and making my instincts go _crazy_."

Chris shivers in the cool air, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach, and he shivers again as Peter's red eyes _devours_ him with a look of hot desire.

There's a defeated groan from Derek's bedroom before music suddenly starts blasting to a werewolf's hearing, and Peter smirks as he stands to undress as Chris watches him.

Chris doesn't try to touch himself, just watches with dark and eager eyes, and Peter smirks as he remembers their days and nights in their hotel room, and how Peter would _punish_ Chris if he touched himself without Peter's say-so.

"Good boy," Peter mocks after he tugs off his shirt and moves to undo his jeans.

“Mom!” Derek yells as he walks into the room with a glass of water, glaring at both the older men. “Don’t we have an appointment to go to? Stop fucking when I’m in the house.”

“Then leave the house,” Peter rolls his eyes, not ashamed at all by his nudity unlike Chris who’s already covering himself up, Peter glances at the glass of water and raises an eyebrow, “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Sighing, and rolling his eyes, Peter pulls his jeans back up and grumbles under his breath.

“I have the meanest son in the world,” he whines, “So cruel. Don’t you want your mother to be happy?”

“You can be happy, and not have sex in the house while I’m here,” Derek tells them both.

"But you are almost always here, and I'm always horny for my mate," Peter doesn't quite whine, but it's close and Derek looks unimpressed as he stares flatly at him. "Fine we won't have sex, but _only_ because we have an appointment."

Derek looks satisfied.

"I will be having sex later," Peter warns him as Chris turns over and buries his flushed face against the pillows.

Derek rolls his eyes before giving his mother a look, "You should get ready."

"Such cheek," Peter gasps mockingly as he glances towards his crumpled shirt and releasing he'll have to choose something else to wear.

Derek rolls his eyes again and leaves with a satisfied air.

"And it will be loud sex!" Peter calls after him making Chris give an embarrassed groan. "Really, Christopher, you'll need to get over this modesty thing going on. Nudity and sex means nothing in a Pack."

Chris just shakes his head and reaches out for his phone to look at the time, and he frowns as he realises Peter must have texted him earlier.

**Pumpkin: Dead body has been found at the school, don't worry it's not anyone important. Kids may have to be picked up early, get Allison to text you if so. How's Derek doing? He is getting ready, right?**

"Peter, what the hell?" Chris asks as he sits up and looks up to where Peter is looking through his shirts.

"What?" Peter asks as he glances over his shoulder.

"There's a _dead body_ at the school?" Chris' voice raises and there's an almost concerning slam of glass on a counter before Derek's almost thundering footsteps head back to Peter's room.

"Ah, I forgot all about that," Peter says mildly as his son almost crashes into the room with a look of panic on his face.

“Is Stiles okay!?” Derek says immediately as he runs back into the room.

Peter rolls his eyes, “If he wasn’t, I’m sure we would have gotten a call from him, he’s very tech savvy I’m sure he’d be gable to send an SOS text with his eyes closed.”

“Well, I’m glad you have faith in my mate, but what if Stiles was kidnapped!” Derek growls.

“I would have felt it through the pack bond if anyone was hurt, and you know that Derek. Now calm yourself if you need to call Stiles to help anchor yourself then do it,” Peter looks up and motions to where Derek’s phone is already in his son’s hand. “And remember to get dressed, we’re meeting Noshiko in thirty minutes.”

Derek isn’t even going to ask how Peter knows he already shifted to using Stiles as his anchor. Instead he spins around on his heels and hits the call button on Stiles’ number.

“Heyo,” Stiles says through the microphone.

“Stiles, are you okay? You’re safe?” Derek asks off in rapid fire.

“Hey, woah, woah there Derek. I promise I’m okay. Seriously I’m fine, I was in the art class when the body was found. But Lydia’s really shaken up.”

Feeling his shoulders relax at the confirmation, Derek slumps against the wall and takes a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

"You okay?" Stiles asks worriedly, and Derek huffs out a laugh.

"You have a dead body in your school, but you are worried about me?" Derek asks in disbelief.

"Well, yeah, you seem pretty freaked out," Stiles says, and Derek can hear the shift of clothing as Stiles probably shrugs.

"I just needed to know you were safe," Derek tells him as he leans against the wall. "What's happening now?"

"We've been put in the gym, the whole school which is _cosy_ ," Stiles explains. "Most of the teachers are watching us while gossiping, some are talking to the police and others are helping to arrange buses and letting parents know that school has been cancelled for the rest of the day."

"Do you know who it was?" Derek asks as he pushes off the wall and heads back to his room, knowing he has to choose his clothes for the meeting.

"Officially, no," Stiles answers before lowering his voice and there's a muffled sound to it as if he's cupping his mouth and phone. "But unofficially? It's Harris."

Derek doesn't know what to say, he remembers Stiles saying the teacher bullied him, and well, Derek doesn't really have fond memories of the man so he couldn't say he's particularly sad about his death.

"How's Lydia?" Derek asks instead, remembering Stiles saying she's shaken up.

"Not good," Stiles admits, his voice rising back to its normal level. "She's the one that found him, well, her and Allison."

“How did she find him?” Derek immediately hates the way he asked the question, it almost sounds like he’s trying to throw the blame on Lydia. “Sorry, I didn’t—“

“Dude, chill. It’s fine. Um—and honestly, I have no idea. Allison said she heard voices? Which is kind of weird, but I think it might have to do with the supernatural to be honest,” he can hear Stiles scratching at his chin.

“I thought Lydia was human?”

“Well, maybe? But come on, you don’t find a dead body because you hear voices, or see dead people out of nowhere. This isn’t the Sixth Sense. Plus it can’t be too hard to connect her with the supernatural, after all you’re a werewolf, I do magic and Parrish is...well we don’t really know yet. So we’re just gonna say he’s the Human Torch.”

Snorting, Derek says, “Fantastic Four, really?”

“The more I keep finding out you’re a nerd, the more I want to wrap you in my arms and kiss you.”

“Later,” Derek comments, with the roll of his eyes and a smile growing on his face.

"Promise?" Stiles teases, and Derek smiles wider to himself.

"Yes," Derek answers and he snorts as he hears Stiles give a little cheer. "You're an idiot."

"Ah, but I'm your idiot," Stiles says immediately back, Derek could almost _hear_ the smile in his voice. "Be aware, Lydia is going to descend on all of Peter's books with a vengeance after this morning."

"We may not be here when they finally let you go," Derek reminds him as he opens up his wardrobe, eyes flicking over _his_ side and looking at his jeans. "Chris may have to pick you up, get Allison to text him if you don't want to catch a ride with Lydia and Jackson."

"Will do," Stiles says before his voice softens. "You ready for today?"

Derek's throat briefly tightens as fears tries to wrestle its way to the forefront.

"It's not a proper therapy session," Derek reminds the both of them, pushing away the fear as he chooses his jeans and throws them on the bed. "Just a meeting to get to know each other a little."

"Doesn't mean it's not scary in its own way," Stiles points out easily as Derek heads to his set of drawers and looks in the drawers he kept for himself, and looks for the right Henley to go with his jeans.

"I know," Derek takes a deep breath. "I'll be fine, Mom's going to be right there."

Stiles smiles to himself, happy with how much Derek’s relationship has grown with his mom.

He’s startled when he hears one of the teachers start to call to everyone’s attention on the speakerphone , and then turns back to his phone.

“Hey, I have to go, the principal is giving an announcement, so I’ll see you after therapy,” Stiles fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket. “I’ve got a present for you afterwards.”

“Oh? Then I’ll be extra good at the meeting for you,” Derek smirks.

“You better,” Stiles smirks into the phone and frowns when Jackson nudges him to get off. “Okay, I gotta go. I’ll see you later, bye!”

“Bye,” Derek smiles and hangs up, sighing as he looks down at the shirt in his hands.

* * *

Over her long life, Noshiko has learnt the advantages of arriving early to meetings.

It has allowed her to scoop out the scene, ready herself if the one she is meeting is setting up a trap, and allows her to set herself up comfortably—and normally under an illusion—to wait and watch for the person she's meeting.

Noshiko first met Peter Hale almost eighteen years ago, several years after having the _pleasure_ of meeting his elder sister and Alpha, Talia Hale.

He had been a young man, nineteen, and there had been a frailness to him that she hadn't known the cause of, but now expects she'll finally find out.

Due to her experience with his sister, when Talia had sent her younger brother and Left Hand to make Noshiko's acquaintance, Noshiko had decided to test him and set herself up comfortably while watching him as the time of their meeting came and went, followed by an hour then two then three before Noshiko finally revealed herself to the young wolf.

Peter hadn't shown any sign of impatience or anger at her lateness, no, he had simply pulled out a sketchpad and drew as he awaited for Noshiko to appear. And when she did, three hours later, he had merely stood and held out a frail looking and yet strong hand to shake hers with respect.

Noshiko admits she had been impressed by his patience and character, and had continued to prefer dealing with Peter over his more impatient and self-important sister.

Peter Hale had earned her respect and even her friendship over the years, and it was for that reason only that Noshiko is willing to move her family to a place she hadn't stepped foot in in almost sixty-eight years.

Beacon Hills looked nothing like the Camp that lingered just outside it's boarder, and it had grown much since she last saw it when she had been looking for the perfect place to stash the Nogitsune.

It is very different from New York, still more connected to the earth and magic, and perhaps the right place for Kira to bloom into herself.

She waits there in the cafe waiting for Peter to show up with his son.

Something Noshiko hadn’t expected in all her years of knowing the younger man, he had never seen like the type to have kids. She knew he had been hiding a deep secret from his Alpha and everyone else.

But a son? Nonetheless, the fact that Peter was a victim.

She looks up from her cup of hot tea and watches as the Alpha werewolf enters with the sulking Beta behind him. She quirks an eyebrow at the two of them, but doesn’t say anything until the Alpha sits down.

“Derek, would you be so kind as to grab us a drink?” Peter purrs, handing over his credit card to the younger man.

“Sure,” Derek grunts, and then stands up to make his way to the counter.

He already knows what his mom wants, it was always the same thing—vanilla pumpkin latte—it makes Derek scrunch his nose because pumpkin spice was so harsh on the werewolf nose.

“He’s a lot older than I expected him to be,” Noshiko comments, already seeing some of the likeness in Derek from his mother and his _father_.

“What did you think he was going to be? Sixteen? I had him when I was eighteen years old.”

"The year before we met," Noshiko muses, and Peter nods his head slightly. "I can see why you kept it quiet."

Peter's face tightens slightly and Noshiko watches Derek Hale, widely considered Talia Hale's only son, and takes in the outfit the young man had chosen to wear to meet her.

Noshiko always found it interesting what her patients wore to their first meeting as it told more about them then they may believe.

The dark colouring of the clothing could indicate underlying depression, subconsciously choosing dark colours that reflect his mood, or it could be an attempt to blend and hide amongst the crowd, his unconscious desire to be unnoticed and ignored.

The long-sleeved Henly and leather jacket covering his most of his skin would agree with that desire, but Noshiko thinks it's interesting that both his jeans and Henly are both tightly fit on Derek's body, showcasing muscles only a rather concern hours of working-out could produce and drawing more eyes to him.

The tightness in his shoulders, and most likely his back, indicates discomfort with the eyes drawn to him, but his stance looks to the casual observer to be relaxed and the tilt to his chin almost seems like arrogance—a false façade to cover his true character, most probably.

It is interesting, and at the same concerning in Noshiko's opinion.

"I never liked your sister," she states, startling Peter from his thoughts and making Derek's head twitch slightly towards her voice. "She was impatient and self-important, relied far too much on the Hale name and the reputation that your ancestors built up, a reputation you as the Left Hand helped to maintain, and believed herself wiser than she was.

She judged harshly and far too quickly, trusted the counsel of a _Druid_ ," Noshiko almost sneers, Druids and their ridiculous vow to the ' _Balance_ ', "far too much for an Alpha with a bloodline as old as the Hale's. Truthfully, I was glad I would no longer have to deal with her after meeting you."

“Most people often said that about my sister,” Peter smirks, “But I’m certain you were the only one who would have said it to her face.”

“Mmh, she may have been a Hale Alpha, but she wasn’t the strongest,” Noshiko watches closely how Derek keeps himself guarded while he does something as simple as grabbing their drinks.

He strides over to the table with an air of false confidence and Noshiko realizes then that whatever these two Hale’s have is going to be a lot more serious than what she originally thought.

“Thank you, pup,” Peter presses a kiss to Derek’s hair and the Beta ducks his chin down. “So how shall we start this?”

“I believe introductions are in order, Peter,” Noshiko gives him a raised eyebrow.

“Of course, Derek meet Noshiko Yukimura, she will hopefully accept to being our therapist. Noshiko, meet Derek my son, my sweet pup.”

“Mom,” Derek rolls his eyes at the names of endearment and ignores the way his cheeks flush at his mother’s praise.

“Starting off, I can already tell we have a lot of things to work on. Trauma, internalized anger and years of repressed sexuality,” she starts off.

Peter straightens as he listens, his face serious, while Derek hunches his shoulders and acts like he's paying more attention to his coffee then her words, but she catches the slight flinch at the mention of 'repressed sexuality'.

"And that's without going back to early childhood and any neglect Talia inflicted," Noshiko adds, her dark eyes keen and watchful. "Or any self-harming or sabotaging that has been encouraged wrongly or ignored over the years."

Derek's face is blank, closed off in a way that deeply worries her, and Noshiko decides to allow him a moment to collect himself as she turns her gaze onto Peter.

"Trauma, abuse, years of repressing said issues," she lists off as Peter's face tightens and he inclines his head in agreement. "And that's without getting to the fire and the coma."

"Where I was raped repeated by several people and tortured by my nurse," Peter says candidly, and almost challengingly, and Noshiko purses her lips.

"I do hope there is plans for those responsible," Noshiko says with a somewhat dangerous tone to her voice, and Peter smiles coldly.

"Some will have to deal with the law they wilfully ignore," Peter informs her before his gaze goes a bit distance. "Others, others I believe should have my _personal_ touch."

Noshiko isn't human, had never been human, and while human therapists wouldn't condone whatever Peter plans to do, Noshiko is a different story.

"I still know of several places where they can be discreetly dealt with," she tells him without censure, and Peter's smile becomes that bit more real.

"Thank you," Peter says quietly. "I'll keep that in mind."

Noshiko nods before glancing between the mother and son, "This will be hard. You will be talking about things you would rather not, things you have tried to forget and have bottled up. You will cry, you will rage, you will perhaps even relive it as you tell me about it, but you _will_ get better as long as you want to get better."

Derek grips his thighs harshly, digging in his claws as he listens to Noshiko’s words.

_Reliving what has happened._

No. _No._

Derek couldn’t—he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to think, nevertheless talk about _her_ again.

He wants to run away from the idea of memory of _her_. Wants to lock those memories away from everyone, especially from Stiles—his mate shouldn’t have to know or hear about the horrors Derek has gone through.

“Derek,” Peter sets a hand on his shoulder, “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Derek flinches away from the touch, glaring at his mom.

His mother sighs and rest his hand on Derek’s shoulder again, “Derek, it’s okay—“

“Well, isn’t this just cute. Murderers sitting with murderers,” Victoria sneers as she walks by their table, two men standing behind her dressed in what looks like standard Hunter gear.

“Victoria, I would have thought you left town with your tail between your legs after your divorce,” Peter sits back in his seat, glad that Derek is the farthest from the hunters.

"We both know that it's you with the tail, Peter," Victoria says sharply as she stands sneering down on them like they are the dirt beneath her shoes. "And I will not leave while you are murdering people. I'm not weak or besotted by you like my ex-husband, I see you for what you really are."

"I think you find that you should get your eyes checked, Victoria," Peter smiles falsely and widely at her making her scoff. "Please, this vendetta against me is childish and tiring, I haven't murdered anyone," _recently_ , "and it's rather stupid of you to do this in public."

Peter nods to the curious glances and even outright stares directed their way, but Victoria ignores them, and Peter wants to shake his head at the sheer arrogance Hunters show.

"You killed Adrian Harris last night, and those two men earlier this week," Victoria announces, her voice carrying in the quietened café.

There's an explosion of whispers, none of them in Victoria's favour, and Peter supresses a smile.

Victoria, in her arrogance, had forgotten something before she staged this confrontation.

It's _Peter_ that's from Beacon Hills, it's _Peter_ with the hometown advantage, and people _remember_ Peter from growing up, from before the fire, and people _remember_ the Hale's with fondness apart from the very young and the new comers to town.

The Hale family had _built_ Beacon Hills, they weren't just a founding family, they were _the_ founding family, and people in towns like this remember that.

They remember Peter, young and bright, and always running around with Claudia—'the Gajos' girl as the older generation still refers to Claudia despite both her marriage and death—and Bobby Finstock—the Coach to the younger generations and 'that crazy Finstock boy' to the older generations.

They remember Talia, who joined the PTA as soon as Laura started school and who worked for the DA—ironically enough, helping to put away people like her husband.

They remember his family fondly, there were shops bearing the Hale name that had employed generations of families.

There's still murals that Peter painted around town, there is still trophies bearing the names of Hale's in the trophy cases in both the Middle School and High School.

The Hale's had been beloved, they had be mourned, and they were still thought of fondly.

Derek didn't have the same protection as Peter.

Derek had left, had gone to New York, and he had come back different, harder than the boy most remembered, and he got treated with suspicion because of it.

But Peter?

Peter is remembered, he hasn't vastly changed, and his scars rouse pity, compassion and anger for what had been done to him.

Beacon Hills is Hale's Land, and Victoria had forgotten it.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. Because _I_ didn’t kill anyone, I was home all night.” Peter tells her, turning his attention to the hot coffee in his hand, bringing it up to his lips he takes a sip as if there aren’t three people standing at his table with guns.

“With what evidence?”

Peter chuckles, and then the Alpha turns his attention back to her, “You want evidence? Then you should go and ask your husband how it was when I rode his cock last night. Oh wait, you got divorced. So it’s none of your business.”

Fury crosses over Victoria’s face as she fumes with where she stands.

“And wouldn’t you know, it’s a little interesting that you of all people should know this sort of stuff. The name of the murdered victim that happened this morning, and yet that knowledge has yet to be released to the public yet,” Peter taps his chin thoughtful, “Should I call the authorities? I have the Sheriff on speed dial if you need to confess to your crimes.”

“That’s none of your business. And maybe I was wrong, it was only a guess,” Victoria snaps, but no one seems to buy her lie.

"And yet you seemed so sure," Peter shrugs his shoulders as he looks at Victoria with a mock thoughtful look. "It'll be interesting to see if your guess is right, considering all we know so far is a body has been discovered—and we only know that much through our children."

Peter leans back in his chair, the picture of calm as he cradles his mug of coffee in his hands, "And I doubt Allison called you, not when she chose to leave with Chris, and when I left Chris, he was waiting for Allison's text so he could pick the kids up. He's a very caring and dutiful father like that, isn't he?"

Victoria glares down at him with increasing fury at the mention of her daughter, "Perhaps _my_ daughter did call me."

"I very much doubt it considering how you reacted when Chris could no longer live the lie you and his family forced him to," Peter shakes his head as if in sadness. "She was very upset about the vitriol you spat at Chris for his sexuality."

 _That_ causes a wave, Peter observes as he sips on his coffee.

Beacon Hills, after all, prides itself on being an accepting and welcoming place no matter what sexuality someone may have.

There is a zero tolerance on bullying due to sexuality, gender, race or religion at every school in town, and it's only Stiles' insistence that stopped Scott being reported and suspended due to a 'hate-crime' on Stiles due to his sexuality—something Lydia would have made sure would have happened if Stiles hadn’t insisted it was just an accident.

"He _deserved_ every word for fucking an animal like you," Victoria can't help, but sneer, and Peter almost pities the woman as she digs a deeper hole as a chorus of gasps echo, followed by whispers making Victoria flush _very_ unattractively.

"It must eat at you that despite all these years, he still loves me," Peter says as Victoria's face tightens. "That despite what you did to me, did to _him_ , in the end you couldn't keep us apart."

 _There_ the collection of middle-age women all carrying one of those mushy romance books send him soft looks before turning icy glares on Victoria for getting in the way of ‘true love’.

Peter wants to laugh, throw his head back and cackle like a mad man.

Because _this?_ _This_ is so much better than anything he could have planned.

“You’re both disgusting. I hope you rot,” Victoria rolls her eyes at the staring crowd.

“Thank you, I’m quite happy where I’m rotting right now. Except you’re still here, what a pity,” Peter rolls his eyes, and then takes another sip of his drink.

“Well this was a fun show, but if you don’t mind I’m busy having a meeting with two clients,” Noshiko tells Victoria without any sympathy in her voice. “I find your rudeness and lack of awareness of your surroundings insulting. Never mind the fact that you have no care for the fact this man is not your enemy. You should leave, because if you don’t, I will make you.”

“And who are you?” The huntress spits out.

“That is none of your concern, now is it? Leave,” the older woman dismisses Victoria, flicking her off like she’s nothing more than a fly.

If someone could swell up with the force of their outrage, it would be Victoria and it would look something like she is right now.

She opens her mouth, no doubt to spit something else out, but one of her Hunters touches her elbow and she closes it with a look much like a sulky child.

"Where were you last night then?" the Hunter asks Derek, who had rigidly sat silent throughout this confrontation.

"He spent the night at the Sheriff's house, sleeping over with his boyfriend if you must know," Peter answers for his son, bristling defensively. "Not that it is any of _your_ business as you are _not_ the police. I believe my friend asked you to leave."

The Hunter's face hardens, but he says nothing as he nods to his companion and places a hand at Victoria's elbow, the three of them turning to leave the café.

"And good riddance," an elder woman near the corner by the window snorts without looking up from her quick knitting. "The nerve of some people these days."

"And to dear Peter after all he's been through?" her companion, an equally old lady with glasses slipping down her nose as she knit, say with a shake of her. "For shame."

Victoria actually reaches purple in her outrage, but her companions herd her out the door before she can do any more damage.

A server comes over with three plates of the triple chocolate cake on display—apparently for free—and slowly the noise level goes back up as people turn back to their own conversation though the confrontation hadn't been forgotten and would, no doubt, be spread across Beacon Hills in no time.

"And I thought New York was exciting," Noshiko says almost dryly as she places her bag on her lap, and begins to look through it.

"I hope this doesn't affect your decision," Peter says as he nudges Derek's plate closer to him, watching keenly as his son picks up his fork and takes his first bite of the cake, and _finally_ he relaxes some.

"I have an appointment to sign the paperwork concerning both my new house and office, so no, it doesn't."

Peter relaxes with the confirmation that Noshiko is going to be their therapist.

The ball of worry in his gut that, despite coming all the way here, Noshiko wouldn't accept, disappears like it was never there.

Now, he only had to deal with reassuring Derek that it's going to be okay, and that it's alright to be a bit afraid about everything.

“I’ll call you both about your next appointment. It was good to see you again, Peter, I just wish it was under better circumstances,” Noshiko nods her head and Peter can only nod his in respect as well.

“Yes, I too wish the circumstances were better,” Peter tells her as she leaves.

Sitting in the moment of silence, Peter finally turns to look at his son who’s quietly eating his chocolate cake.

“Are you okay? You know you can talk to me, Pup,” Peter soothes, resting a hand on Derek’s shoulder and giving him a squeeze.

Freezing, Derek tilts his head down to stare at the table, letting his eyes _attempt_ to burn holes into the table.

“I don’t want to talk about it here. We can talk somewhere else, _alone_ , please,” Derek tells his mother shakily.

"Of course," Peter says easily, reaching out for Noshiko's untouched slice of cake and placing it beside Derek's half-eaten cake. "Take your time, Chris can deal with the teenagers for a while."

Derek nods as he keeps eating his cake, and Peter picks up his fork to dig into his own slice of cake.

Whatever evil entity Noshiko had wanted to tell him about, she obviously decided it could wait.

Probably correcting seeing that Derek isn't ready to be left alone, Peter reflects as he glances at his son as he finishes his slice of cake and moves on to Noshiko's.

Peter doesn't know what to say to Derek, didn't know how to reassure him without knowing the exact problem or reason why Derek's sudden afraid of going through with this.

Derek had wanted therapy, Peter hadn't forced him and wouldn't have though he would have strongly suggested his son did go to therapy if Derek hadn't wanted to go.

Yes, Derek had been concerned about therapy, but he hadn't been scared of it, and Peter wasn't sure what Noshiko had said exactly that made Derek's worry turn to sudden fear.

It hadn't been pleasant to suddenly scent fear from his son, something that had been made worse when Victoria had invaded with her Hunter goons at her back.

Though thankfully, the mess Victoria made of herself in front a good part of town had lessened the fear and had even amused Derek some.

Though Derek is still almost distressingly quiet and retreated into himself, Peter wants to gather him close and cuddle him until all tension leaks from his frame and all those awful smelling emotions are replaced by contentment.

Derek drinks his coffee, eats the two plates of chocolate cake and the rest of Peter’s when the Alpha nudges it his way.

He’s still a little hungry but decides against asking for more, he just wants to go home now. He wants to go home where Stiles is, where he can curl up with his mate and forget about those _awful_ memories.

“Finished?” Peter asks, giving Derek’s a soft smile when his son nods his head. “Come on, pup. We’ve got an apartment full of teenagers waiting for us, one of them probably traumatized and the other waiting for the Bite.”

“Okay,” Derek says, quietly following his mother to the car they came in together.

Right when they get in, Derek freezes when he feels arms wrap around him and pull him into a hug. Peter shushes the soft whines he lets out and runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, while the younger man curls against him and inhaled his Alpha’s scent.

“It’s okay, Der. It’s okay. I’m not going to let the hunters hurt you _ever_ again,” Peter snarls the part a little, his eyes beginning to burn hot red, nails digging a little into soft clothing.

“Mom,” Derek shakes, whining in the back of his throat as he presses his face to the soft spot of his Alpha’s throat, and sighs with comfort.

“You’re safe,” Peter hushes again, “You’re safe, Pup.”

"I don't want to talk about _her_ ," Derek admits with a hitch of his breathing, his voice muffled against his mother's neck. "I don't want to remember anything about _her._ "

"I know," Peter soothes as he runs a hand up and down his back. "But it does nothing good trying to ignore what happened, trying to forget about it. Things like this, they have a nasty habit of sneaking up on you and affecting you in more ways than you realise. Trust me on that."

"I don't want _her_ to ruin what I have with Stiles," Derek confesses, shuddering as he thinks about the ways he already messed up with Stiles and he whines again when he remembers how he acted when Stiles suggested he wasn't straight and how Noshiko so _easily_ said he'd been repressing his sexuality.

"Shush, I know," Peter presses a kiss against his hair. "I know you don't want to talk about _her_ , let alone think about _her_ , but Derek, my sweet Pup, you need this, we both do. I don't want to talk about _Robert_ , let alone think about _him_ , but I know I need to. I can't keep running and hiding what happened Derek, and I don't want you to become like _me_."

Peter's breathing hitches as he confesses the last bit, the fear that Derek could become as broken and haunted as Peter, as twisted up as Peter.

There's things he haven't allowed himself to do with Chris, things he had once done so easily that had been ruined by _Robert_ and the _others._

Peter doesn't think he can ever let Chris take him from behind again, _Robert_ had ruined that position where Chris had allowed himself to get a little _wild_ , and he hasn't yet allowed Chris to push him down so he could be on top.

 _That_ position, Peter thinks, would bring up memories of being trapped in his body, of Hunters groaning and grunting above him as they _rape_ him, the eyes of _that_ fucking nurse watching him as she counts her ill-gotten gains.

Peter _needs_ the control that Chris has been willing to give him so far.

But he's worried about what will happen when Chris wants some of the control back.

Shaking, Derek pulls back and slouches a little in his seat.

Sighing as he watches the internal turmoil that battled inside of his son, Peter gives his shoulder another squeeze before starting up the car.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Derek,” he reminds his son.

“I know...” and yet he still sounds like he doesn’t believe it. Peter will have to work on that. He’s going to have to work on a lot of things.

Of course, the both of them were going to struggle through this whole thing.

Therapy was a big step, but keeping up with it and actually making progress, that was what’s going to take the real strength to do.

Peter doesn't know what to say, what else he could say to reassure Derek, and he simply pulls away from the curb and starts to drive home.

Hopefully, some cuddling with Stiles will help Derek as Peter doesn't know what to do.

"I'll have to do a lot of cooking and baking this weekend," Peter says, glancing somewhat hopefully over Derek. "Is there anything apart from cookies that you would like?"

Derek chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, before glancing almost hesitantly at Peter, "Death by chocolate?"

"As a proper cake or my special Death by Chocolate cupcakes?" Peter asks while trying to hold back a beaming smile.

"Your cupcakes," Derek says as he relaxes a bit, and Peter smiles as he goes through a mental checklist for everything he needs.

Peter's special Death by Chocolate cupcakes are different from a normal Death by Chocolate cake as there was no tiers for him to put the chocolate icing in.

No, Peter makes rich and chocolatey cupcakes, inserting either chocolate mousse or sauce into the centre, smoothing the top with the chocolate icing before adding chocolate buttercream as a swirl on top before adding the chocolate waves on top of that.

It had been called a Sugar-Coma in a Cupcake before the Fire, and only Derek had ever managed to eat more than one in one sitting.

It had always been one of Derek's favourites, and Peter always enjoyed making them for Derek if only to have see the beaming smile on Derek's face.

"If you think about anything else you want this weekend, just say, okay?" Peter says as they get closer to home and whatever madness the four young teenagers have brought with them.

"Okay," Derek agrees softly, just wanting to get home and cuddle with Stiles.

It's strangely quiet when they enter the apartment and hang up their jackets, and for a moment Peter is convinced that somehow, they have arrived home before the others.

But focusing his hearing, he can hear the five familiar heartbeats in the library upstairs.


	5. Chapter Five, "First of all, I'm not a "total psycho " and, by the way, you're the one who slashed my throat wide open but we're all works in progress. Right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normal possible trigger warnings.

Derek feels like his whole body simply sets itself into a one-track course as he hunts down his mate.

After his leather jacket has been put up, he grunts out something he doesn’t even remember to Peter before stalking his way up the stairs and to the library.

Once he enters, his eyes immediately lock onto his mate who’s curled up on the couch with a book in his hand.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growls animal-like under his breath, crossing the room with four quick strides and pulling his mate into his arms.

“Woah! Oh—hey Derek, you doing alright big guy?” Stiles drops the book down to the couch, and pats the werewolf’s back while Derek manoeuvres them into a better position on the couch. “Derek?”

The werewolf growls and noses against the soft hairs at the back of Stiles’ neck.

“What happened to him? He sounds like a Neanderthal,” Lydia raises an eyebrow at the older man.

“Ah, Lydia. I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” Peter comments as he enters the room.

The first thing he would have done was gone over and scent mark Derek and Stiles, but seeing his pup curling around Stiles like an oversized wolf pup makes him pause. Derek would rather growl at his Alpha in this very moment than let someone else scent Mark his mate.

So instead, Peter walks over to where Chris is sitting at the table and places a kiss to the man’s forehead, and then comes over to brush his hand over Allison’s shoulder.

Lydia sniffs, her long red hair pulled back in a messy bun and looking just a touch pale with slightly pink rimmed eyes, as she looks up from the collection of books she had spread out across one of the tables in Peter's library.

"You've been holding out on me," Lydia tells him as she places a hand almost possessively over the book she had been reading.

"Actually, I was trying to stop that one," Peter nods towards Stiles, who has accepted his position as a living teddy bear to his werewolf boyfriend, "from spending hours in here and forgetting that people need sleep."

Lydia hums slightly, not completely convinced as Peter moves over to where Jackson is lounging across an armchair and lazily looking through a book, and he leans down to press a kiss to his youngest son's hair.

Jackson flushes slightly at the easily given affection as Peter moves over to brush his hand over Lydia's shoulder.

"You didn't answer my question," Lydia reminds Peter, watching as Derek nuzzles at Stiles' neck before almost mouthing at it in a way that makes Stiles flush despite the way he's doing it reminds Lydia of when Prada was a puppy and she mouthed things for comfort.

"Is he okay?" Allison asks in concern as she watches Derek.

"The meeting brought up some unpleasant realisations," Peter puts it delicately before smirking to himself as he almost swaggers back to Chris. "It was also interrupted by Victoria."

"Mom?" Allison questions with a grimace while Chris eyes Peter suspiciously.

"What did you do?" Chris asks as he leans back in his chair, putting his book to the side and pushing his chair back enough for Peter to perch himself sideways on his lap.

"Why do you think I did _anything_?" Peter asks innocently in a bright tone as he wraps his arms around Chris' neck.

"I know you," Chris snorts as he wraps his arms around Peter's waist.

"I _ruined_ her reputation," Peter says gleefully, a cackle edging into his voice.

“Jesus, Peter.” Chris shakes his head, trying to hold back on the smirk because he knows Peter definitely wasn’t lying about this.

“I didn’t even do anything really, she gave it up herself. Basically admitted she was a psychopath and knew more than she was letting on,” Peter explains, “I threatened the police on her which was weird seeing as I usually handle my problems with my bare hands.”

“Let’s not talk about killing my ex-wife and Allison’s mother in front of her,” Chris says, putting a hand on Peter’s hip.

Peter looks at the man and then turns to Allison, her face is the picture perfect of a blank canvas and Peter bites the inside of his cheek.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine. Well, kind of? I don’t know—this whole supernatural reveal thing and my mom not being as great as I thought she was is just—it’s really hard to process,” Allison bites her lip, and then shakes her head.

"I'm sorry," Peter says again with a slight grimace. "I should remember that despite my experience with her and my feels about her, she is still _your_ mother."

"It's fine," Allison insists again. "Just, I'm having a lot of complicated feelings about this, about her."

Chris looks at his daughter with concern, "We can talk about it, everything, if you want?" he glances around the room before adding. "But later, and alone?"

Allison nods her head as she bites her lip.

Peter bites the inside of his cheek as he hesitates, but he always been bad at resisting what he wants, and he leans so his lips brush against Chris' ear.

"I feel like a victory blowjob should be in my future," Peter whispers hotly, nipping his lobe, and feeling Chris' clutch at his hips. "I've missed you went to your knees for me so willing, the feel of your mouth around my cock. I've missed how sometimes you'd suck me while opening up with your fingers, fucking into me after you've made me cum with your mouth."

" _Fuck_ ," Chris curses, voice low and heated with arousal, and one of his hands fists in Peter's long hair and drags him into a kiss.

Derek makes a low growl, giving his mother a glaring look.

“ _Not in front of everyone_ ,” Derek says under his breath, Stiles not noticing a thing as he opens his book again.

“Fine,” Peter rolls his eyes and stands up.

Before he can make a quick exit, Lydia stops him.

“Do you know if there are any creatures or lore on someone who hears...voices and find dead bodies?” she says the last part like she’s afraid of saying it without being looked at differently.

Peter hums and taps on his chin, “Surprisingly, there’s a lot of folklore like that, but I would suggest looking through Fae stuff first. That seems more likely to answer your questions.”

Peter walks over to the bookshelves and pulls out four different books before handing them over to Lydia.

“And Lydia, I’d just like to add there’s nothing to be ashamed of here. Hearing voices relates more to the supernatural than it does with going crazy,” Peter explains.

Lydia nods slightly, not convinced, as she takes the books and strokes over the leather covers.

"Now, for the next," Peter pauses as he watches Chris stand, "two hours? Occupy yourselves, and don't set the apartment on fire."

"Responsible," Chris snorts as he walks over to Peter, hoping his hardon isn't too obvious in his jean.

"Of course," Peter smirks as he takes Chris' hand and pulls him. "Now come, I'll make sure you have a nice pillow for your knees."

Chris flushes as Derek, Jackson and Allison makes noises of disgust, but Chris can't stop the way his gaze drops to where Peter's hard in his jeans or the way he licks his lips at the thought of getting his mouth around that cock again.

Peter's nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath of Chris' arousal, and his eyes bleed red.

"Fuck it," Peter decides and pulls Chris close before throwing his older lover over his shoulder. "Seriously, two hours."

With that said, Peter turns on his heel and leaves with Chris hanging over his shoulder and looking like he's tempted to bite at Peter's ass.

"There's somethings you should never know about your parents," Allison says as she shudders slightly, turning away as a smack and a moan echoes back to them.

"I can't believe I have to wait to be bitten because of old people sex," Jackson says in disgust as he closes his book and lightly tosses it on to the table.

Stiles, Derek realises as he peeks up at his mate, hasn't actually noticed anything as he's absorbed into his reading.

Cuddling up with Stiles in his arms, Derek feels himself slowly calm down as he relaxes.

He feels himself slowly coming back to himself and presses gentle kisses to Stiles’ warm skin, rumbling when he smells his mate’s satisfaction.

“You’re so cuddly today,” Stiles comments, turning his head to press a kiss to Derek’s lips.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek purrs, wrapping his arms a little harder around his mate.

Chuckling, Stiles squeezes Derek’s shoulder and then goes back to reading his book.

“Sometimes I get really jealous of how cute those two are,” Allison sighs, resting her chin on her hand.

“They give Jackson and I a run for our money with being the sexiest couple in town,” Lydia replies.

“Excuse you? We’re still the sexiest couple!” Jackson argues.

Lydia gives him an amused look, finally breaking from her worried and depressing thoughts that she's turning into her grandmother, and rolls her eyes at his pout, "Okay, they are the cutest and most cuddly couple, is that better?"

"I suppose," Jackson says grudgingly making both Lydia and Derek roll their eyes at him.

"They almost make me want to be in a relationship," Allison chuckles lightly, glancing around at the mess of books with a slight guilty wince and standing up to put them away.

"Almost?" Lydia asks curiously, trying not to sound too concerned or curious.

"Well, yeah, I mean, it hasn't even been a week since I broke up with Scott," Allison says as she tries to figure out which book belongs where. "And then the thing with my mom, the divorce—something a long time in coming, and something Dad had been really prepared for, considering how quickly the lawyer sent over the papers and Dad got them signed."

It had apparently been as simple as e-mailing the documents over, getting them printed off and signed by her mother before having them faxed back to lawyer and filed, and there, done, a marriage over, life as Allison had always known it gone.

"It's just been a lot, you know?" Allison asks as she slips a book back in place on one of the shelves—the same sturdy hardwood dominating the downstairs of the apartment. "I want to get a handle on everything, figure out how I now fit with everything, and all before I commit to someone. Like, it doesn't seem fair to just lump them in with my problems and issues, and possible neglect them."

"Them? Not him?" Jackson asks curiously and with no judgement, a glance towards where Lydia is and suddenly more sure that he is going be dumped by the petite red-head.

"Yeah, them, I'm bi," Allison turns to smile at them, not really concerned by any of reactions, but still cautious in a way she never realised before that she is when it comes to her sexuality.

Some part of her wonders if she had subconsciously recognised her mother's disapproval and even disgust for anyone that's not straight, and she wonders if that's why she kept her kiss with Karolina a secret.

She doesn't know when or if she would have come out to her parents if it wasn't for this.

“Hey, that’s awesome!” Stiles says from where he’s sitting on the couch, and then winces a little, “Not about the divorce thing, that sucks. But Uh, being bisexual. You know, cause I’m also bisexual. And us bisexuals, we gotta stick together.”

“That’s so true,” Allison smiles and nods her head at him. “The bi’s gotta stick together, so we can be disastrous with one another.”

“We’re the disaster gays,” Stiles snorts, thinking of all the memes he’s seen on Tumblr about this sort of stuff.

Derek opens up an eye to watch as his mate laughs along with Allison’s joke, and curls up a little closer with him. He just wants to hear Stiles laugh for the next two hours so he didn’t have to hear his mom have sex with Chris.

“Wait, so does that mean everyone in this room is queer?” Stiles chuckles, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I thought everyone here was straight!”

Jackson snorts and so does Lydia, who had been trying to focus on the book before her. But honestly, she couldn’t help but laugh as well.

It was a little humorous that all of them were queer.

Derek shifts slightly against Stiles, still uncomfortable with thinking himself in the terms of being _queer_.

Stiles tugs him closer, letting Derek bury his face against his neck and hide his discomfort from the others.

"Oh yeah!" Stiles realises something, propping his head up a little to look at the others. "I totally forgot to tell you guys something, considering everything with the dead body and all."

"You've come to the realisation that you are unexperienced when it comes to sex and want to practise with me, so you don't make a fool of yourself in front of Derek," Jackson guesses before pretending to heave a great sigh. "Well, for the good of my older brother, I will offer my body for you to experiment with."

Derek growls and throws a brown cushion at Jackson, hitting the blonde in the face, and curling his arm more firmly around Stiles' waist, "Mine."

"I hadn't even thought about that," Stiles says before something akin to panic crosses his face, and Lydia leans back in her chair with a smirk as she watches the resulting fallout. "Oh my god, you're right! I am so unexperienced! I'm a virgin in all ways! I'm going to embarrass myself so much!"

Jackson cackles as he hugs the cushion to his chest, "Like I said, I willingly offer my body."

"Shut up," Derek growls at his brother, unable to believe he once wanted a little brother, before turning to Stiles, tugging the younger teen up as he sits up. "You won't embarrass yourself."

"Derek, I embarrass myself on a daily basis," Stiles tells him seriously, before he realises something. "I'm going to cum before you even touch me, before there's any entering on either side, oh my god, I'm going to be the stereotypical virgin guy!"

Derek feels his cheeks turn red at the thought of having sex with Stiles for the first time. Thinks about that sweet pale skin under him, the way Stiles would arch under him and make soft kitten noises. His face grows redder when he thinks about Stiles squirming and whimpering against him, soft lips against his skin.

“You’re not gonna cum the moment I touch you,” Derek tells him, “I’m touching you right now and you haven’t cum... _yet_.”

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” Stiles’ face turns red when Derek growls those words against his skin.

He doesn’t go any further than pressing kisses to Stiles’ skin and pressing them flushed against one another. Biting his bottom lip, Stiles turns his head to hide his face against his arm to hide how red his cheeks are.

"It’s like watching a nature documentary where the animals go into heat and start humping against one another,” Lydia snorts.

“Nope. No. No. There’s not going to be _any_ humping going on here,” Stiles says, ignoring the pout Derek gives him. “Don’t even start, Sourwolf.”

Smirking, Derek takes the book from Stiles’ hand and sets it onto the ground before pushing Stiles to his belly.

“There can be a little bit of humping,” Derek purrs, his grin growing wider when he smells the spike of arousal in his mate.

“Not in front of everyone!” Stiles squeaks.

"Yes, in front of everyone," Lydia says simply as she crosses one leg over the other and watches avidly.

"My brother and my old crush? I feel like I shouldn't watch this," Jackson muses, but doesn't take his gaze away from where Derek's hovering over Stiles' prone form.

"Didn't you say something about sex not being a big deal in Packs?" Allison asks innocently as she moves to sit next to Lydia.

"You—" Stiles cuts himself off as he feels Derek lower himself down, pressing his crotch against Stiles' ass and Stiles gasps as he feels Derek's dick hard in his jeans.

Derek shudders, pushing more firmly against Stiles' ass, and leaning down to suck at the nape of Stiles' neck.

The moan that comes from Stiles makes him growl, makes him work his hips against Stiles more firmly. He wants to tug Stiles up, get him on all fours and _claim_ him like that, he wants to rip Stiles' t-shirt off and kiss and suck on all that pale skin.

He wants, _he wants._

Stiles fists his hands against the couch, pushing back Derek and shuddering as he hears the rasps of their jeans against each other, feels Derek hard against him.

"Stiles, I-I," Derek's tongue feels thick in his mouth, his skin feels feverish and he ruts forward almost helpless. "I-I-I—"

He can't get it out, he can't get the words out, but Stiles is turning underneath him, arms coming up and pulling him down, and Derek whimpers as he feels how hard Stiles is against him.

"It's okay," Stiles soothes, cupping his jaw and tilting him up. "It's okay, this is fine, alright? Just like this, just for a bit. You okay?"

Derek shudders and nods as his lips seek Stiles' hungrily, Stiles' legs spreading and one leg wrapping around his thigh as Derek rocks against Stiles in almost desperate little ruts.

Stiles presses up with his hips, one hand tangling in Derek's hair, and he kisses back, opening his mouth when Derek licks at his bottom lip.

"Okay, they _may_ give us a run for our money," Jackson says in a thick tone.

Lydia looks up from where she was reading the book, giving the two men on the couch a raised eyebrow before looking back down at her book.

“There goes your crown of sexiest man, Jackson.”

The blond turns his head to glare at her, crossing his arms over his chest as he gives an indignant huff.

“This is dumb. I should be the hottest person in this room,” the teenager argues, “Just wait, when I get the Bite, I’m gonna be the sexiest man in the world.”

Stiles loses composure and can’t stop the peel of laughter that comes out of him.

Scrunching his nose, Derek pulls back a little to stare down at his half-hard giggling mate, his own erection throbbing against Stiles’ perfect ass and the wolf inside of him rumbles at how happy his mate smells.

“Sorry—sorry. I like totally ruined the mood,” Stiles grins, pressing a kiss to Derek’s lips.

“It’s okay,” Derek noses at Stiles’ throat, and melts when his mate pets his hair, only to cringe when he hears his mom orgasming in the other room. “Actually, do you think we could play some music? Like loud, rock music?”

Stiles giggles a bit more, somewhat madly, as Derek buries his face against his throat with another cringe.

"Please, some really loud music," Derek begs slightly, his voice muffled as he hears the sound of Chris being shoved on the bed. "Like right now, _please_."

" _Fuck_ ," Chris moans, and Derek whines, "Please!"

Allison giggles a bit as she pulls out her phone and pulls up her music, putting on some Linkin Park and adjusting the sound to be as loud as it can be, and Derek sighs with some relief as he slumps against Stiles.

"Just think of all the sex you are going to overhear here after the Bite," Stiles jeers towards Jackson, running his fingers through Derek's hair.

Jackson scrunches up his nose as he realises that, and Allison and Stiles giggle, and Lydia smirks as she turns back to her books.

"They don't have sex _that_ much, right?" Jackson asks, and Allison and Stiles gives him a pitying look. "They are old people, they can't have sex that much."

"Actually, although the testosterone level in your thirties and early forties start to go down, about 1% so it's not really noticeable, it's the stress of home-life, work and all that really affects the sex drive," Stiles almost lectures as he drags his nails along Derek's scalp, his mate a happy werewolf slumped on him. "Something that neither of them have a job, they are settled with a good home and don't have to worry about money considering how rich Peter is, and while yeah, there is some stress, I don't think it's the stress they are really unused to dealing with."

Jackson stares at him blankly, "Why do you know this off the top of your head?"

"I research things!" Stiles defends himself.

“What, gay porn?” Allison teases.

“Porn actually isn’t that good at showing what real sex is like and should not be used as an example. It has a lot of false information and unrealistic ideals,” Stiles rambles off, pausing a moment to press a kiss to Derek’s hair. “Anyways I just go to LGBT safe space blogs, they have a good nsfw section where I can ask questions. Plus, Google can answer almost any question.”

“You’re so cute when you ramble,” Derek comments, brushing his cheeks against Stiles’.

Stiles huffs, “I’m not cute, I’m manly.”

“You can be cute _and_ cuddly,” Derek tells him. “Weren’t you the one who went on a rant about how stupid gender norms were?”

“Hush. I can be a little hypocritical,” Stiles hushes, leaning forward to press his lips to Derek’s.

Derek kisses back, humming slightly as he does.

"Huh, so you went on a rant about how stupid gender norms are, and yet you behave in what people consider normal teenage boy behaviour and dress in such stereotypical ways," Lydia says in a musing tone. "And not in a good sense of dress before Peter got his hands on your wardrobe."

Stiles pulls back from Derek and scowls at Lydia, "Why is everyone against my wardrobe?"

"Because it did nothing for you?" Lydia asks as she looks up from her book, slightly frustrated that once again she's stopped from reading her books. "Because it did nothing to show off your assets?"

"Some assets shouldn't be shown off!" Stiles squawks, pulling Derek closer as if to use him as a shield for his dick.

Jackson hums as he leers, "I think some assets should be shown off a lot more often."

"You need to stop looking so closely at my assets!" Stiles points at Jackson as he scowls at him, and Derek growls as he presses more firmly, covering his mate firmly. "Showering in the locker room is really weird now that I know you're looking at my dick so much!"

"Just tell me how big you are, and I will stop! I just need to get the right sized dildo!" Jackson argues back, and Lydia sighs while Allison giggles.

"I should have brought chocolate or popcorn up with us," Allison whispers to Lydia.

"Will you stop going on about getting a dildo the size of my dick?" Stiles demands, and Jackson scoffs.

"Have you _ever_ known me to give up on something I want?" Jackson raises his eyebrows at Stiles.

And Stiles makes a frustrated noise, regretfully pushing Derek off him, and he stands up with a snap of, " _Fine_."

Lydia raises her eyebrows, incredulous, as Stiles, grumbling, starts to undo his jeans.

“What are you doing?” Derek’s eyes turn blue and he loses his composure and shifts in front of everyone.

Stiles shrugs a little as he pulls down his pants, and then hooks his thumb into the band of his underwear, “I mean whatever makes him leave my dick alone, you know?”

“No! I’m the only one allowed to see your dick,” he pulls Stiles back down onto the couch and covers Stiles with his body. “ _Mine._ ”

“That’s no fair! You have every opportunity to see Stiles’ dick. I just want a peek,” Jackson whines, getting out of his seat to approach them both, only to stop when Derek snarls.

“ **MINE** ,” the werewolf snarls again.

“Derek—uh—you’re kind of pressing against my dick. With your hand,” Stiles says, biting his bottom lip as he tries to hold his hips stay still.

“I know,” Derek grumbles, “It’s mine. You’re mine. You’re all mine.”

“Okay, Sourwolf. Whatever makes you happy—but uh, you’re kind of hurting my dick.”

Derek eases up the pressure, but his hand—his very big and hot hand, Stiles wants it noted—is still covering his dick, and Stiles closes his eyes as he desperately tries to stop the blood rushing to his cock.

Unfortunately, Stiles has never had that much control over his body, and he really can't control it when Derek's hand is only separated from his dick by the thin piece of fabric that is his boxers.

Derek's nostrils flare as he turns his head to look at Stiles, and Stiles bites his lip as electric-blue eyes pin him in place.

"Okay, okay, I'm going to zip up my pants now," Stiles says, his breathing hitched, and damn, his voice low and thick with his arousal, and his hands feel shaky as he lowers them to do up his jeans, and Derek growls slightly making Stiles freeze. "You are giving me mixed signals here, Der."

Derek's hand shifts slightly, and Stiles gives a ragged gasp as Derek curls his hand almost curiously around Stiles' dick through his boxers, and Stiles really can't keep his hips still when his boyfriend—amazing, mind-blowingly hot boyfriend—has a hand wrapped around his dick even if it's through his boxers.

"Derek, _fuck_ ," Stiles closes his eyes as he struggles to keep his hips still. "We, we need to stop."

"No, no you really don't," Jackson argues as Derek stares down at where he's holding Stiles' cock, feeling it twitch through the thin fabric and how it seems to keep _growing_.

Derek clenches, that strange and yet growing familiar clench, and he almost whines out loud.

He doesn't know what to do, he _wants_ , fuck, he wants so _bad_ , but he also doesn't feel ready.

His wolf is howling in his head, loving having Stiles under him, and wanting him to do something, _anything_ , to prove to everyone that Stiles is _his_. He wants to show off that Stiles is _his_ and no one, not even his brother, is going to touch him.

But he's not sure, he's not ready, but he's curious, and he _wants_ , and his head is filled with confusion.

Warm hands cup his face and Derek startled out of his thoughts from it, blinking down at his mate.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, we don’t have to do anything further if you’re not ready,” Stiles leans up to kiss his mate, peppering soft, butterfly kisses against Derek’s jawline and then his throat which has the werewolf breathing heavily.

Those soft lips, kissing up his throat, the soft spot for an animal.

The wolf rears its head at that and shivers, he should snarl and put Stiles in his place for trying to challenge him, but then he feels himself nudging his cock against Stiles’ thigh.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek whimpers, and leans down to press a kiss to Stiles’ lips again.

“Der?”

“I’m good. I’m good. I just need to-to calm down,” Derek grunts, pressing his nose against Stiles’ throat and inhaling his scent. “I’m good.”

“What do you want to do? We can just stop, it’s fine, Derek,” Stiles tells him again.

Growling, Derek hunches his shoulders up and then decides on listening to his wolf, picking Stiles up from the couch, Derek carries his mate to their den deciding on finishing this in privacy.

"Hey!" Jackson complains behind them, but Derek ignores him and carries his uncomplaining mate to their den.

* * *

"Oof," Stiles lets out as Derek lightly tosses him onto their bed before the werewolf is closing the door and pressing his brow against the cool wood.

"Der?" Stiles asks, jeans still open and his dick still hard and twitching, but his boyfriend's comfort is more important than his arousal. "It's okay, we can stop now."

"I don't want to stop," Derek confesses, pushing away from the door and turning around, biting back a whine as he takes in Stiles' state. "I-I just want to touch, just a little."

Stiles swallows thickly, "Yeah, yeah, touch all you want."

Derek can't help the way he falls into a stalk as he walks over, only briefly stopping to step out of his boots, and then he's climb onto the bed, freezing as he realises he doesn't know what to do.

"Der?" Stiles asks, reaching out to touch him, and Derek swallows as he looks up.

"I-I don't," Derek curses himself, feeling stupid and useless, and Stiles' hand cups his cheek.

"It's okay, we can just kiss and see where the mood takes us?" Stiles suggests, and Derek almost slumps with relief.

"Yeah," Derek nods and Stiles shifts his hand to cup the back of Derek's neck, and Derek moves with the slight pressure Stiles' puts on the back of his neck until he's hovering over Stiles.

Derek hesitates, remembering the urge to just to _claim_ and _take_ earlier, and Stiles presses a kiss to Derek's forehead.

"Want me to go on top?" Stiles asks him, and Derek nods with relief, not wanting to tempt himself.

Derek rolls off Stiles and onto his back, and it's Stiles turn to hesitate slightly.

"Do you want me on your lap or like...?" Stiles trails off in question, and Derek tugs Stiles until he's between Derek's spread legs.

"Like-like this," Derek says almost shyly, not wanting to admit yet how much he had liked it when Stiles had pressed his cock against his ass, and Stiles swallows as he nods.

“Okay,” Stiles settles between Derek’s legs, blushing at how warm the man’s skin was. “I’m gonna take a guess and say a higher body heat is something werewolves have. You’re like a freaking heated blanket, you’re so warm.”

He leans down to press kisses against Derek’s lips, traveling down to his collar bone and then giving the older man’s shirt a tug.

“Do you wanna take this off?” he strokes at the bare skin underneath the shirt, shivering at how warm it is to the touch.

“Yeah-yeah, we can-can you take your shirt off too?” Derek fidgets a little as he sits up on his elbows.

For once, Stiles isn’t afraid of his own body, doesn’t hate how gangly and skinny he is compared to Derek. The man gives him a boost of confidence he didn’t even realize he had until now.

“Of course,” Stiles easily takes off his shirt first, tossing it to the side before reaching over to do Derek’s next. “This okay?”

The werewolf nods his head, lifting his arms up and shivering when Stiles pulls his shirt off as well.

Hands travel down his chest, and pause at where his chest hair has grown out more than his beard hair, Derek watches as Stiles marvels at the hair on his chest, and then tease his fingers over Derek’s nipples.

“Can I kiss you here? Like just—all over your chest,” Stiles leans back a little, wanting to give Derek some space.

Derek nods, and then pauses before saying, “N-not my stomach. Anywhere but there.”

"Not your stomach, okay," Stiles agrees easily, not asking why or attempting to push him, and Derek shivers at the first touch of Stiles' lips against his chest, just on his right pec.

The kiss is soft, gentle, and lingering before Stiles moves to press another kiss, and another, just soft and gentle, and it makes Derek shudder slightly under him.

He's had people kiss his chest before, _clients_ wanting more than some quick fuck in the toilets or against an alley wall. They'd spring for a hotel room or something, and would pay well into the hundreds to get their full of Derek's body.

But their kisses were always hungry, harsh and quick, eager to get to what they really wanted.

Stiles' kisses against his chest, trailing a line from one pec to another before moving to press a kiss at his shoulder and moving along to his other shoulder, are soft, loving almost, they linger and are unhurried as if Stiles doesn't mind if he doesn't get to do anything else but kiss his chest.

It makes Derek shudder under each kiss, makes his chest hurt and warm, and then his back is arching as Stiles presses a lingering kiss on one of his nipples.

Stiles pulls back slightly, looking up at him with his breathing ragged, and his pupil devouring the amber of his irises, "Is that okay? Do you like that?"

Derek nods, breathless under the look in Stiles' eyes.

It's lust and want, and Derek's used to those emotions directed at him, but it's also warm and almost loving, and it makes Derek feel cracked open and _weak_ under Stiles' gaze.

"Can I—can I suck on them a little?" Stiles asks, wetting his lips as his gaze drops back to his chest. "Is that okay?"

"Y-yeah," Derek clears his throat, his voice already sounding _wrecked_ and Stiles has only kissed him. "Yeah."

Lips press another kiss to his right nipple, before opening and engulfing it in a wet heat, and Derek chokes back a whimper as Stiles sucks and grazes his teeth against the nub.

Stiles places his hands on Derek’s waist, holding the man’s waist gently as he sucks on Derek’s nipple. Shivering at the feeling of it in his mouth—he knows he was just saying earlier that porn doesn’t always show the right representation in sex, but he has noticed a few things while watching gay porn.

Pulling back, Stiles gently blows cold air against Derek’s wet nipple. The man gasps and grips the bedsheets underneath him with white knuckles as he jerks his hips upwards, whimpering as he feels Stiles’ hardness rub up against him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says breathlessly, his hands moving to grab Stiles’ jean clad ass so he can rub their erections together.

It’s juvenile what they’re doing; hot, messy sex with utter to no grace as the rub and pant against one another.

Giving Stiles’ ass a squeeze, Derek bites on the bottom of his lip as he feels himself getting so close. He’s practically toeing the edge of orgasm, Stiles nips at his nipple, grazing his teeth against the hard nub and pulling a yelp from Derek.

“This okay? I’m not going too far, am I?” Stiles pulls back a little, and Derek makes a growling whine in his throat.

“No. No. Please, more,” Derek pulls him closer, wrapping his legs around Stiles’ waist and moaning when he feels Stiles pressing his erection against his ass.

Stiles shudders slightly, rutting his dick against Derek's ass, and pressing a rather sloppily kiss to Derek's chest.

"Can I undo your jeans?" Stiles asks, and Derek moans as he nods.

Derek can't help the tensing of his stomach as he feels Stiles fumble with the button of his jeans and then he's giving a moan of relief as Stiles pulls the zipper down, giving his cock some needed room.

"These have to be uncomfortable," Stiles grimaces slightly as he glances down, seeing the lines from the jeans cutting into Derek fade and disappear like they were never there. "Do," Stiles hesitates, "do you want to take them off? Just them though!"

Derek shudders at the thought of feeling Stiles pressing against him more clearly, and only through two pieces of thin fabric.

"You too," Derek agrees, reluctantly unwrapping his legs from around Stiles' waist and letting Stiles pull back, so he can kick off his jeans.

It's only years of experience that allows Derek to take off his jeans quickly and with little trouble while Stiles curses as he kicks them off as they attempt to cling stubbornly.

The heavier thud of their jeans hitting the floors is all the encouragement Derek needs to pull Stiles back and wrap his legs around Stiles' slim waist.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles curses against his shoulder, rutting almost helplessly against Derek's ass, and Derek moans as he feels himself clench, almost wishing Stiles' cock is in him, stretching him open. "Is-is this okay?"

" _Yes_ ," Derek groans out, hands slipping down Stiles' pale back and resisting the urge to slip under Stiles' boxers as he grabs hold of Stiles' ass. " _More_."

Stiles groans against him, but starts thrusting his hips against Derek's ass more firmly, letting Derek feel the _full_ size of him, and _that_ mouth attaches around Derek's neglected nipple, sucking and nipping.

Derek almost whines as he desperately rubs his clothed cock against Stiles' stomach, working back to the edge easily under Stiles.

“God, you feel amazing,” Stiles moans around Derek’s nipple. “Derek—Derek.”

“Stiles— _fuck_. More please, _please_ ,” he begs, clawing a little at his mate’s back with blunt nails, desperately trying to hump their hips together.

His jaw drops when he feels just the tip of Stiles’ cock nudge against his asshole, and he makes the most embarrassing noise as he keeps rutting against him.

“Yeah, yeah. Anything you want Der.”

Derek throws his head back as Stiles keeps nudging his cock head against his asshole, whimpering as he feels the dampness of Stiles' precum.

" _Shit_ ," Stiles curses against Derek's chest, feeling himself peeking out of his boxers, the tip of his dick dragging over Derek's asshole, and he slips his hands from Derek's waist to hold at Derek's ass as he fucks almost wildly.

Derek moans as Stiles lifts his ass slightly, rutting harder against Derek's ass and rubbing over his asshole, and he feels himself clench helplessly, needily, as he feels himself hang on the edge, he just needs a bit _more_.

Stiles groans and he sucks on Derek's nipple, pressing his teeth firmly against the hard nub, and Derek whines as he cums in his boxers.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles groans as he feels the sticky wetness of Derek's cum against his stomach, fucking his hips a few more times before he cums and he curses as he feels himself cum more against Derek's boxers than in his own.

Derek shudders as Stiles slumps over him, his hips jerking almost absently, and Stiles pants open-mouthed against Derek's shoulder as Derek turns to nuzzle against Stiles' head.

Flipping them over onto their sides, Derek rumbles loudly as he smells both their mixed scents of cum. He pulls down his underwear and then Stiles’ next, ignoring the little noise of question Stiles makes.

_Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine._

His wolf pants and howls as Derek smears both of their cum together, purring as Stiles moans and pushes his body against Derek’s own as he smears his chest with Stiles’ cum.

“This is both gross and hot,” Stiles murmurs as he presses a kiss to Derek’s lips, throwing a leg over his boyfriends hip, and biting back a moan as their cocks run up against one another.

“Huh. I can’t believe I’m actually longer than you,” Stiles comments as he glances down at their cocks, marvelling in Derek’s thick, uncut cock.

Derek shudders slightly, thinking of having Stiles' slender and long cock in him, _filling_ him, and he twitches against Stiles' cock making Stiles give a small gasp.

"Can-can I touch it?" Stiles asks almost hesitantly, still making sure not to push Derek's boundaries.

"Yes," Derek almost rasps, feeling breathless and with a warmth spreading in his chest.

Derek bites back a groan as Stiles' curious fingers reach out and touches him, stroking against the side before curling around the girth as Derek hardens in his grip.

"You're so _thick_ ," Stiles says in something like awe, tightening his grip some and Derek thrusts his hips slightly, fucking into Stiles' hand with a groan. "Is this okay?"

There's something breathless to Stiles' tone, and Derek can _feel_ Stiles hardening against him, poking against his hip.

It should be easy to say yes after what they had done, should be easy to accept Stiles giving him a handjob while giving him one back—how many men had just wanted Derek to give them a single handjob without them becoming _regulars_? Almost as many as those who only wanted to buy Derek's mouth for a blowjob—but it feels different, and Derek feels balks at the idea of it for some reason.

Derek's throat feels tight, and he doesn't know what to say, how to get the words out, and he feels so _stupid_ because what does it matter now? After what they just _did_? It's _only_ a stupid and simple handjob!

Stiles either can feel him softening in his hand or he read something in Derek's silence because he releases Derek's cock without a fuss, and just pulls Derek closer, rubbing a hand up and down his spine.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Stiles soothes, pressing a kiss to Derek's forehead, and Derek shudders as he realises he's being making tiny gasping breaths like he's on the verge of panic. "Hey, it's okay, do you want me to pull your boxers back up? Want me to stop touching you? Touch you more? Der, it's okay, I promise everything is okay."

Derek takes a few deep breathes, trying not to let the panic rise inside of him as he pushes away the horrible memories. He shakes in Stiles’ arms and whimpers when fingers run through his hair, and soft lips kiss against his forehead.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Der. Just take a few deep breaths, that’s good. You’re doing so good,” Stiles holds him through it all, feeling like an anchor to Derek as he clings to him.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to ruin the—“

“Hey, woah. I’m just gonna have to stop you right there because you didn’t ruin anything. It’s okay to freak out over some things, Der, I promise there’s nothing wrong with you,” Stiles kisses him gently. “We can just chill here and cuddle naked, no need to rush anything. I’m very happy with humping like teenagers.”

“That’s because you are a teenager,” Derek huffs, pulling Stiles a little closer as he starts to calm down.

“Yes I am. And just because my libido is ridiculous, doesn’t mean I won’t stop if you tell me to,” Stiles kisses him again, “I don’t deserve you.”

“What are you talking about? It should be the other way around, I don’t deserve you.”

“Hush. You are perfect, so fucking good Der. You don’t even realize it,” Stiles strokes a hand down Derek’s back.

"I'm not," Derek begins, but Stiles cuts him off with a scoff.

"You are," Stiles tells him firmly, tugging Derek slightly so he can press his lips against Derek's forehead. "You're perfect to me, so fucking good despite everything, and you're so strong, I can't believe how strong you are."

Derek shudders slightly, feeling warm and pained, and not knowing what to do.

"Can we just cuddle for a while?" Derek asks, almost feeling ashamed, and Stiles pulls them, Stiles landing on his back and Derek half on top and able to bury his face against Stiles' throat as the younger teen holds him tight.

"Sure, always up to cuddling with you," Stiles tells him, his heartbeat even and truthful, and Derek noses against Stiles' throat with something close to a whine as Stiles strokes one hand up and down his back, not lingering on Derek's bare ass, focusing on Derek's comfort instead of any lingering lust.

Derek wraps his arm around Stiles' waist, keeping his nose tucked against Stiles' throat, and lets the lingering smell of them and Stiles' scent to calm himself down fully.

“You’re so warm,” Stiles finds himself commenting again, pressing a kiss to the warm skin against him and enjoying the way Derek just rumbles happily against him.

“ _Mate_ ,” Derek purrs.

A knock at the door has Derek clinging to his mate tighter, and flashing blue eyes at the person standing at the door.

“Ah, look at you two. You’re adorable,” Peter comments from where he’s leaning against the door, a black robe covering his body.

“Mom,” Derek groans, feeling Stiles freeze in his arms.

“Dude, what the fuck? I’m naked,” Stiles grabs the blanket and pulls it over the both of them.

“Oh, don’t be so prude, Stiles. I’ve seen you both naked plenty of times,” Peter rolls his eyes, and comes over to sniff at them both.

"Yeah, when I was like six!" Stiles protests, clutching the blankets to them very much like a Victorian maiden in Peter's opinion. "I've grown since then!"

"Please, you were eight when you stopped with walking around nude during the summer," Peter corrects him without hesitation or mercy. "And yes, I saw just how you've grown. Your mother would be smug that she was correct that you would be big in length even if you aren't very girthy—apparently you take after your father in that department."

" _Mom!_ " Derek says, almost embarrassed on Stiles' behalf.

Stiles gives off a strangled noise, his face flushing a deep red, before he pulls the blanket over his head.

Peter ignores both of them as he sniffs at them, taking in the unmistakeable scent of sex, but no scent of lube or condoms.

"You haven't tried penetrative sex yet then," Peter comments as he straightens, earning a flushed look from his son and another strangled sound from the mound of blanket that is Stiles. "But still, some sex has occurred, and you were both happy with? No pushing on either side?"

"No," Derek says through gritted teeth, wanting to bury his face against Stiles or duck under the blanket with him.

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re not pushing. Neither of you aren’t pushing which is good,” Peter sits down on the edge of the bed to brush his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“Mom, please,” Derek whines, covering his face with a hand.

“What? I can’t tease my baby boy?” Peter smirks, while Stiles chuckles a little, clapping his hands together, Peter stands back up and starts to head towards the door. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll start on something good for dinner. You two take your time in here. I know Lydia has everyone busy with helping her with her research.”

“Mmkay, mom,” Derek nuzzles against Stiles’ collarbone.

“We can take a shower if you want,” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s hair.

Derek nuzzles more firmly against Stiles' collarbone, nipping at it slightly.

"Or we could lazy about for a little longer," Stiles chuckles as he shifts the blanket to properly tuck the both of them in. "Just thought we should get off all the dried cum."

"You smell right with it on you," Derek grumbles, not happy at the thought of washing away their combined scent from Stiles or himself.

"I may smell right to you, but I feel kind of disgusting," Stiles shifts slightly and grimaces. "And flaky, flaky isn't a nice feeling, Der."

Derek grumbles as he moves away from Stiles, "I suppose we should shower."

Stiles can't resist kissing the pouty look Derek's sporting at the thought of the shower, leaning up and capturing Derek's mouth, nipping slightly at Derek' bottom lip.

Derek growls slightly as he opens his mouth, bracing himself on one arm as he cups Stiles' jaw as they kiss.

"This isn't going to get us to the shower," Stiles says as he pulls back from Derek's lips, and Derek hums as he pressing kisses against Stiles' neck. "Come on, Der. I'll let you shower first."

Derek growls slightly, nipping at Stiles' neck, and making his mate gasp in a very satisfying way.

" _Fuck it_ ," Stiles hisses as he tangles his hand in Derek's hair and tugs him back up, so he can kiss Derek.

Derek kisses Stiles back eagerly, pushing off the blanket, and shifting until Derek's straddling Stiles, and Stiles' hardening cock is nestled between his ass cheeks.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles curses as he breaks the kiss, rutting up slightly. "Are you sure about this?"

Derek sits up, his chest heaving and making Stiles want to sit up so he can suck on those nipples again, and he wraps a hand around his own cock.

"Just d-don't touch my cock," Derek says breathlessly, rocking against Stiles' cock, groaning at the pressure against his hole.

“Okay—okay. Whatever you want, Der. Whatever makes you comfortable,” Stiles agrees, mourning the loss of jerking Derek off, but he said he wasn’t going to push so he won’t.

Derek moans as he moves his hips and ruts back against Stiles’ cock, planting his hands on Stiles’ chest and holding him down as he gets off, Stiles moans and plants his hands on Derek’s hips.

He watches with rapt attention as Derek’s cock bounces and rubs against his stomach, both of them shaking with pleasure.

Stiles bites on his bottom lip, planting his feet on the bed for support as he holds himself up for Derek to rub against.

“Jesus, Der—you look amazing,” Stiles reaches a hand up to pinch at Derek’s nipple, pulling a whine from the older man. “So beautiful. And all for me.”

Derek shudders above Stiles, whining as Stiles plays with his nipple, and rutting harder against Stiles.

He wants to shake his head, wants to tell Stiles that he's not beautiful, not really, but it's hard to think, let alone speak, when he can feel Stiles' cock pressing against his hole, dragging and rubbing against it in a way that makes sparks travel up and down his spine.

Stiles groans, dropping his head back as he fucks up against Derek, tightening his grip of Derek's hips as he does.

Derek shifts his hands, one hand bracing against bed while the other wraps around his cock and begins to jerk himself off.

He's going to cum over Stiles, going to _claim_ him with his cum, and it's not going to matter that Stiles is probably going to have a shower after this because Derek will still smell it, smell _them_ , and he'll _know_ that he claimed his mate with his cum.

No werewolf will be able to the claim Derek's rubbed into their skin, no one will be able to deny that Stiles is _his_.

Derek's jaw aches, his fang aching to drop and properly _claim_ Stiles in a visible way, a way no one can ignore, but he ignores that urge, remembering Stiles wanting to wait, and not wanting to force himself on Stiles in any way.

Stiles' mouth closes around his nipple, drawing a startled whine from him as Stiles stops him spiralling away from what they are doing and into dark thoughts, and Stiles' hands shifts from Derek's waist to his ass.

Derek groans as he feels Stiles grip each cheek and spreading them, he ruts harder against Stiles' cock as he fucks into his hand.

Stiles sits up slightly, reluctantly releasing one glorious ass cheek to brace himself on an elbow, wanting to properly worship Derek's nipples and his amazingly hairy chest, and Derek can't help, but clench as it shifts Stiles' cock against his hole.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles gasps against his chest, his rutting almost wildly in response of _feeling_ Derek clench his ass against his cock and under his hand.

Whimpering a little like a needy pup, Derek glances down at Stiles who looks completely fucked out beneath him. He looks so happy too, and the expression throws Derek off for a moment.

He forgets this isn’t a client, he doesn’t have to please Stiles and just ignore himself along the way. He can make it good for the both of them, _wants_ to make it good for the both of them.

“Stiles,” he slows his pace down, “ _Stiles, fuck_.”

Gasping, and arching his body off the bed, Stiles whines and shivers as Derek runs his warm hands down his body.

“Wanna make you feel good,” Derek admits, struggling to form the words as he rocks back and forth between awareness and arousal.

“You are—fuck, I feel amazing. But I want to make you feel good as well,” Stiles sits up, jerking his hips once.

“I’m good. I’m good,” the werewolf slurs.

“Are you sure? I can do anything else you want? Please, I just want you to feel good.”

"I do," Derek says as he keeps rocking against Stiles' cock, cupping Stiles' jaw and tilting his head back to kiss him hungrily. "I feel good."

And he does, he feels good because it's _Stiles_.

It's _Stiles'_ cock against his ass, rubbing against his hole and making him clench in a way that's quickly becoming familiar to him.

It's _Stiles'_ hands rubbing up his thighs and grabbing his ass, pulling him closer as Stiles ruts up.

It's _Stiles'_ mouth pressing against his, opening up so easily and eagerly for him.

How could he feel even better when everything he wants is _here_?

When Derek can have Stiles like _this_ and not have a nagging fear or worry that he's going to ruin it or push too far?

Stiles groans into the kiss, his hands flexing on Derek's ass, and pulls back a little, resting his brow against Derek.

"Want to make you feel good, want you to feel so good," Stiles repeats breathlessly, groaning as he ruts up against Derek. "Tell me what to do."

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Derek tells him, feeling a sense of control over the situation which is something he usually never feels during sex.

With clients, it was just making them get a simple orgasm and then leaving the room.

But with Stiles, he...he has so much control over everything now. He can push and see how Stiles reacts, can see how far his mate wants to go and he feels the heat in his stomach begin the boil.

“Der,” Stiles gasps, shaking underneath Derek’s body.

“So good for me, baby. God, I can’t believe your mine,” Derek leans down and kisses up Stiles’ chest, and nipping at the underside of his jaw, he teases his own cock, and groans when he feels he’s so close to coming. “I’m close.”

“Me too. Me too— _fuck_.”

Stiles shudders, rutting up desperately as he makes this whining sound, and Derek groans as he feels Stiles cum against, feeling the slide of cum as Derek keeps rocking, and he only needs to fuck into his hand a few more times before he's coming.

Derek bites with human blunt teeth at Stiles' shoulder as he fucks with a whine and he cums over his hand, over Stiles' stomach, and he's still coming when he lets go of himself to start rubbing the cum in, Stiles shuddering and whimpering below him.

Derek gives another shudder as he stops coming, pulling back and taking in the picture Stiles makes underneath him.

Stiles looks fucked out; his mouth, red and swallowing looking, is parted as he takes ragged gasps of air, a bruise is already forming where Derek bit him, standing out starkly against Stiles' pale skin, cum had been spread by Derek's hand over his soft flat stomach and up his chest.

Derek rumbles in approval, feeling Stiles' cum against his ass, between his cheeks, and over his hole from his continued rocking, and reaches down to keep rubbing in the cum into Stiles' pale skin.

"I think you broke my brain," Stiles tells him, breaking the relatively silence as Derek rumbled and rubbed, his eyes focusing on the ceiling. "Because there's a lot of thoughts running through my head, like a _lot_ , but none of them make sense."

"Yet you're able to string a sentence together, I must not be doing a good job," Derek teases, feeling impossibly light in a way he isn't used too and has _never_ felt after sex before.

"There's no shutting me up, it's been a doomed quest since I learnt to talk," Stiles tells him, gaze shifting down and focusing on Derek's face before a large and rather stupid smile curls Stiles' lips. "We just had sex. We just had sex _twice_ , and I didn't embarrass myself."

Derek snorts as he almost absently rubs some cum over Stiles' nipples, humming as the nubs tighten under his touch and Stiles gasps.

“ _We had sex_ ,” Stiles marvels, feeling weirdly proud of himself and just elated with joy.

He pulls Derek down into a kiss, licking at the man’s bottom lip and just relaxing underneath the warmth of Derek’s body, feeling like a very well wrung out rag. Humming as Derek kisses him back, and then shifts onto his side so he can hold himself up with one elbow so he can look down at his mate.

“This is possibly the best day of my life,” Stiles tells his boyfriend, running his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“Because we had sex?”

“Maybe,” Stiles teases.

Rolling his eyes, Derek lays on his back and smiles when Stiles rolls over to press up against him, both of them ignoring the drying cum on their skin.

"You're ridiculous," Derek tells him fondly, wrapping his arm around Stiles as the younger teen wraps a leg over his.

"Shush," Stiles mushes a finger against Derek's lips. "Let me bask in this moment, let me remember the feeling of just having sex, and the complete lack of care or disgust I feel about the cum drying over my skin."

Derek snorts as he grabs Stiles' hand and presses a kiss against the hushing finger, honestly tempted to suck the finger into his mouth and show off his skills. But he doesn't know what he would do if Stiles comments on them, so he settles to just pressing kisses against Stiles' hand.

"Seriously, no one ever tells you just how messy and kind of gross sex is," Stiles continues, resting his head against Derek's shoulder. "Especially when _someone_ likes to rub their cum around."

Stiles' tone is teasing, soft, and he smells of sex, _them_ , contentment, lingering lust, and satisfaction, and Derek's so entuned at the moment with Stiles that he doesn't even have to tense and try to guess through his scent if he's actually upset with Derek's actions.

For once, Derek doesn't have the lingering and constant background worry that he's going to mess this up or ruin it. No, Derek is feeling too content and satisfied to worry, and he has an equally content and satisfied mate plastered to his side.

"So," Stiles turns his head to press a kiss to Derek's shoulder. "Does this mean making-out on the bed is alright? And possibly this again? Or was this a heat of the moment kind of thing and you'd like to step back a bit? Because I'm totally fine with whatever you want!"

“I’m not really sure,” Derek tells him truthfully, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this again in another hour or even the next day. Sometimes I feel...confident? No, I don’t think that’s the word I’m trying to use. Like, uh-like some days you know how you wake up and you know it’s going to be a bad day?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods his head, leaning in a little closer to Derek.

“It’s kind of like that. But when the moment arises? I don’t-this is hard to explain, I’m sorry,” the older man shuffles a little, his hands fidgeting with where they’re resting on Stiles’ hip.

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it. And I just want you to know, I’m not going to expect sex from you every single day, or every waking hour,” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s lips, “You wanna fuck, we’ll fuck. You wanna cuddle, we’ll cuddle. I’m ok with anything you throw at me, big guy.”

“I...thank you. I’m glad that you’re so understanding and accepting with my...problems,” Derek circles his thumb over Stiles’ hipbone.

“You’re not a problem Derek, nothing about you is wrong,” Stiles cups the man’s face, and tugs him a little closer. “Your my mate, my Sourwolf. Which means I’m _your problem._ ”

Derek snorts, “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

“Hell yeah I am. Cute and manly,” Stiles makes a show of flexing his arms which gets Derek laughing.

Stiles can't even fake a pout, not when Derek's actually laughing, and Stiles really can't resist kissing that cute laughing face Derek's got going.

"You're so cute," Stiles mutters as he presses kisses all over Derek's face, and Derek doesn't even protest for once as he curls a hand around the back of Stiles' neck and pulls him into a kiss.

It's lazy more than anything, not a kiss to push for anything else, and Derek loves it, loves that he can just lazily kiss Stiles and he knows that Stiles won't push for more unless Derek gives a sign or says it's okay.

"We definitely need a shower now," Stiles says, barely pulling back to speak before kissing Derek again. "You can go first."

Derek kisses Stiles back, pulling him closer, and he doesn't want to be parted from Stiles, not yet, and it's what prompts him to speak before he can really think it through.

"Join me."

Stiles pulls back, something surprised in his expression, and Derek finally realises what he said, and he almost flushes, almost wants to take the words back, to say he had been joking.

But....but Derek wants to keep close to Stiles, wants to keep him smelling like _them_ , wants to press close to him and exchange lazy kisses.

"Just to shower," Derek adds instead of taking it back, and Stiles strokes his cheek, something soft and happy taking over the surprise.

"Just to shower," Stiles agrees. "I won't touch if you don't want me to, just focusing on getting clean."

“Okay,” But Derek continued to lay there, just enjoying the shared body heat between the both of them.

Stiles pats Derek’s stomach, and grins at how soft his boyfriend looks right now while he settles there.

“Come on, big guy. Let’s get in the shower,” Stiles kisses Derek’s cheek before standing up, biting his bottom lip as he stares down at his sleepy mate. He gives Derek’s hand a tug, “Let’s go, Sourwolf.”

“I’m coming,” Derek grunts, watching Stiles’ ass as he walks over to the bathroom, licking his lips at the sight of moles doting the pale expanse of Stiles’ back.

* * *

Starting up the shower, Stiles holds his hand under the water until it gets warm before. He’s about to call out Derek’s name when strong arms wrap around his waist, and pulls him back against a wall of muscles.

“Derek!” Stiles laughs, spinning around to wrap his arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Don’t scare me like that.”

"Sorry," Derek says without looking remotely sorry as he pulls Stiles closer, one had spreading possessively against his lower back while the other slips down to cup Stiles' ass.

"This doesn't feel like you are wanting just to shower," Stiles says, biting his bottom lip as he feels himself stir slightly, ready to harden and show off his teenage libido.

Derek hums as he backs Stiles into the shower, closing the glass door behind them, and moving them under the warm spray of the shower before he ducks his head to kiss Stiles.

Stiles kisses back while keeping his arms around Derek's broad-shoulders, he promised he wouldn't touch, and he wasn't going to break it despite the fact Derek seems interested in something other than showering.

Derek has never felt like this before, this _want_ and _desire_ that makes him want to keep touching Stiles, to press kisses all over Stiles, to take him back to their bed and make Stiles fall apart under him, because of _him_.

Derek's hand on Stiles' ass flexes, he wants to bring them close until their cocks are touching and rubbing against each other, to have another round of messy and juvenile sex that he has enjoyed more than _any_ of the sex he's ever done.

He wants to feel normal, like a regular teenager enjoying sex for the first time with their boyfriend.

Derek pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, closing his eyes and raising his face to the spray in hopes the water will clear the haze his mind has fallen into, the haze of _want_ and _lust_.

"You okay?" Stiles asks, a thumb stroking the ball of Derek's right shoulder, staying almost impossibly still despite the tremble working through him as his arousal swims in the humid air.

Derek thinks he could get drunk on Stiles' arousal, of smelling his honest arousal that was as much for Derek as a person as it was for Derek as a body.

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s wet hair, grinning when Derek rumbles happily at the gentle touch. Turning to grab the bottle of shampoo, he takes a curious sniff and hums at the scent before pouring some into his hand. He starts to slather the shampoo into Derek’s hair, scrubbing and scratching at the base of his scalp where he earns a groan from the wolf.

“You like that, big guy?” Stiles biting on his bottom lip when he earns a grunt. “You’re so beautiful. I want to wash you all the time, you’re like a giant puppy.”

Huffing, Derek’s almost tempted to give Stiles a grumpy look, but then Stiles is leaning his head back to wash the soap out.

While the man is distracted, Stiles starts to scrub at Derek’s chest hair. His dick twitching with interest at the feeling of the hair under his hand.

“Turn around so I can get your back,” Stiles nudges, grinning when Derek does so. “Good boy.”

Derek flushes at those words, staring down at himself, he sees his cock getting hard again and tries to brush off the arousal.

They’re just bathing, nothing more.

Stiles grabs the shower-gel and a cloth, knowing he'll only get distracted if he could feel Derek's hot and wet skin under his bare hand.

He squirts some on the damp cloth, placing the bottle of shower-gel back on its little shelf with the shampoo and stuff, and begins to wash Derek's back, starting at the nape of his neck and working down.

Derek hums as he feels the cloth rub in circles over his shoulder-blades, tracing the lines of his tattoo, running up and down his spine.

Stiles swallows thickly as he goes lower, washing Derek's lower back and hesitating at the swell of Derek's ass.

Derek's ass needs to be washed, Stiles knows that, he knows his cum has dried between those glorious cheeks and he needs to wash Derek to get rid of it.

"I," Stiles clears his throat, trying to remove the rough and almost husky tone of his voice, "I need to do your, uh, ass."

Derek shudders slightly, his cock twitching, and he reaches behind himself to spread his cheeks open, so Stiles can get to the dried cum.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles hisses, biting his bottom lip, and resisting the urge to grab his dick as he takes in the sight of _his_ cum dried over Derek's hole and down towards Derek's taint. "You sure?"

"Yes," Derek almost breathes out, and he shudders as he feels the almost delicate strokes of the cloth against him, against a place no one had ever touched him.

"Is this okay?" Stiles asks, his tone thick with supressed lust.

“Yes,” Derek groans, pushing his hips backwards as he feels Stiles’ finger slide against the rim of his asshole.

“So good, Der. You’re doing so good,” Stiles soothes, taking the time to make sure Derek is cleaned up.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek moans, ignoring the fact he was trying to hold back on this.

Throwing caution to the wind, Stiles gets to his knees and presses a kiss to Derek’s ass.

Holding back everything he wants to do to that beautiful ass, he starts to clean up Derek’s legs and feet, lifting them up one by one so he can get every part.

“Turn around, and I’ll get your front,” Stiles swallows, watching as Derek’s muscles tense and move with such grace.

Okay, Stiles will admit he hadn't really thought it through.

It seemed simple enough, Derek needs to turn so Stiles can clean his front, and yet Stiles forgot one important thing until its staring him straight in the face.

Stiles is still on his knees, his face hovering around crotch height, and there's a thick hard dick staring at him.

"Oh _god_ ," it comes out in a wheeze as Stiles' brain starts wondering if he can even fit Derek's dick in his mouth.

Stiles has always been accused of having a big mouth, the amount of curly fries he can stuff in his mouth is both impressive and mildly worrying as his father's always thought he'd choke on them, but when Stiles says that Derek is thick, what he means is he is _thick_ , and it'd definitely be a workout for Stiles' mouth and jaw to fit him in.

Hell, he's actually feeling somewhat concerned and maybe slightly nervous about Derek being the one fucking him and actually _knotting_ him.

He'll need a _lot_ of prep for Derek's girthy cock, and even more for a possible knotting, and it's only the reminder that somehow Peter birthed a baby from his ass without any problems with sex and shit that Stiles isn't having a panic attack that would probably frighten Derek, and mean that Stiles wouldn't get to enjoy the sight of his dick again.

Derek groans as he takes in the sight of Stiles on his knees and with his mouth open.

"Stiles," it a reminder and a groan at the same time, and Stiles almost jumps as he squeezes the cloth in his hand.

"Right, cleaning, because that's what we are doing, we're cleaning ourselves up, and not sexing ourselves up, nope, no way, no matter how hard we are or how gorgeous someone's dick is," Stiles rambles as he tries to reach the shower-gel from his position. "Shower-gel, I need, uh, more to properly clean you."

Derek bites at his inner cheek, he can feel Stiles' warm breath on his cock as they are _that_ close, and he almost fumbles for the shower-gel to thrust into Stiles' hand.

“Thanks,” Stiles blushes and begins yo scrub at the front of Derek’s legs.

Derek clenched his fist and stares down at Stiles’ face, the fact that it’s so close to his cock and he just— _Fuck_.

“You good?” Stiles asks, falling into temptation and leaning closer to rest his face against Derek’s thigh.

Spreading his legs further apart, Derek’s ears burn red as he gives in the implication that he wants Stiles to wash between there.

“Are you sure?” Stiles hesitates.

“Please,” his voices trembles a little.

Pressing a kiss to Derek’s thigh, Stiles starts the process of washing between Derek’s legs, choosing not to use the wash cloth as he lathers Derek’s cock and balls with soap.

The older man leans against the wall behind him as he groans, pushing his hips forward as Stiles takes the time to gently clean him up.

Stiles' breathing is unsteady as he strokes his soapy hand over Derek's cock, the older teen fucking into his grip slightly with a groan, and oh _god_ , Stiles closes his eyes as the foreskin exposes the full and fat head of Derek's cock.

 _This is just washing, we're just washing, I am not going to do anything he doesn't want, I am just going to clean him, I am just cleaning his dick, his completely gorgeous dick that deserves to be worshipped as much as every other part of him,_ Stiles shakes his head roughly, stopping his spiralling thoughts as he rinses the soap from his hand and then uses it to clean the soap from Derek's dick and balls, trying to resist the urge of fondling him.

Stiles bites his bottom lip, and soaps up his hand to wash at Derek's taint, trying to not place too much pressure against it as he knows just what it feels like to press against the prostate from the outside, but still being firm enough to clean the area.

" _Fuck_ ," Derek groans, one hand falling heavily on the top of Stiles' head as the younger teen carefully cleans between his legs and the area between his balls and ass.

It shouldn't feel good, Derek thinks, but it _does_ , and Derek doesn't know why. He knows if he asked, Stiles would tell him, tell him why it feels good in a new and strange way, but it's taking all his control to remember they are just washing each other.

"I-I'm done," Stiles swallows, carefully standing up as Derek's hand slips from his head down to his shoulder, lingering as it slides down his arm before placing itself on his hip. "I-I'm going to start with your chest, okay?"

"Yes," Derek answers, his voice trembling and husky, and they are even _closer_ now.

The bathroom connecting to Derek's room isn't big, but the shower isn't cramped and small, and there's room for them to have a comfortable amount of space between them while still under the spray of the waterfall showerhead—Peter's choice in all his bathrooms.

Derek doesn't move though as Stiles washes his front.

Pressing another kiss to Derek’s shoulder, Stiles gasps when he feels the man’s erection run up against his thigh and he hides his smile against Derek’s shoulder.

Pushing at Derek’s chest lightly so the man steps back under the spray, Stiles reaches to grab the shampoo bottle so he can clean himself up, but is stopped when Derek reaches forward to grab his wrist and stop him.

“Something wrong?” Stiles looks back up at his boyfriend, both their cheeks red and flushed.

“Let me,” Derek says, voice a little rough like he’s holding back on growling.

“Okay,” happily handing over the shampoo bottle, Stiles startles when Derek puts a hand on his shoulder and forces him back down so he’s sitting on the bottom of the shower. “Oh!”

He melts when he feels Derek’s fingers start to scrub at Stiles’ hair, even though it’s been buzzed down it still feels amazing against his skin.

“You like that?” Derek bites on his bottom lip as he asks.

“Fuck, it feels so good. Who knew getting a scalp massage can feel so good?” Stiles leans back against Derek’s legs.

Derek rumbles slightly, having the stupid urge to preen as he drags his nails against Stiles' scalp and making the younger man groan.

Stiles' hair shouldn't take that long, he never really takes long when washing his hair since he doesn't really have much. Just a quick wash with the shampoo, sometimes doing the conditioner, but Stiles isn't complaining.

No, siree, he has no complaints to the feel of Derek's nails dragging against his scalp, his fingertips rubbing in the shampoo, or the heat of his legs at his back.

Stiles wonders, a bit absently and muddled from the feel of Derek's fingers on his head, if this is how dogs feel when they are getting head scratches and if so, he totally understands why the dogs go crazy to get some.

"Your fingers are magic," Stiles tells him, feeling torn between sleepy and the still pooling arousal that's just grown as Stiles washed Derek.

Derek snorts, ignoring the fact he's been told that before and for other reasons, "Close your eyes and tilt your head back."

Derek moves so he's not blocking the spray, helping to rinse the soap from Stiles' buzzed hair, and feeling mildly pleased that Stiles hasn't buzzed it down yet.

It's not long enough for him to tug on, but it could get there if Stiles keeps forgetting about buzzing it down. Though he does enjoy the feel of the buzz under his hand when he strokes Stiles' hair or cups the back of his head.

"Up," Derek commands, and he helps Stiles up and off the tiles under them. "Front or back?"

"Uh," Stiles blanks, wondering if he could cope to seeing the look of quiet focus on Derek's face as Stiles watched him and then he remembers kneeling at Derek's feet, and he thinks it's best for both of them for Stiles to prepare himself mentally for that, or Stiles will embarrass himself like he was worried about earlier. "Back."

"Turn around," Derek tries not to growl as he thinks about all that mole-dotted skin for him to explore and _that_ perfect ass.

Derek takes all the time in the world as he cleans up Stiles back, peppering in kisses here and there because he _can_. And he loves that, loves the way he can just give Stiles as much affection as he wants, and his mate gives it back equally.

 _Mine. All mine_ , Derek thinks as he kisses up Stiles’ throat.

Hands sliding down Stiles’ back and cupping his mates ass, spreading them apart a bit and rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ pink pucker.

Derek bites down on his bottom lip, holding back the urge to finger Stiles open and fuck his mate. It’s so tempting too, so fucking amazing to look down at that beautiful hole and just—

“ _Der_ ,” Stiles whines as Derek continues to rub over his hole.

“Sorry, sorry,” Derek kisses Stiles’ shoulder and then washes him off.

“Tease.” Stiles jokes, turning his head to kiss Derek’s lips.

Derek hums into the kiss, not arguing about what Stiles says, and he presses against Stiles' back as he strokes Stiles' hips and thighs.

Stiles whimpers into the kiss, bending one arm back to curl around Derek's neck as Derek soaps up his hands and begins to wash Stiles' hips and thighs, moving to scrub a hand over Stiles' soft stomach.

Stiles doesn't even attempt to protect such a vulnerable area from him.

No, Stiles arches back against him, pressing his soft stomach into Derek's hand and his ass pressing more firmly against Derek's cock.

Derek growls into the kiss, growls at the total submission Stiles' is showing him, and one soapy hand curls around Stiles' fragile throat as Derek _devours_ Stiles' lips, swallowing each little whimper.

It's like somethings flipped in his head, and Derek doesn't even realises his claws have grown until he feels them press into the soft flesh of Stiles' stomach.

Stiles doesn't even cringe away from the prickle of Derek's claws, keeps himself arched and pressed against him trustingly, and Derek growls as he ruts against Stiles' ass.

“I’m going to eat you up,” Derek rumbles, stroking his claws down Stiles’ stomach as he touches that soft flesh underneath him.

Stiles almost wants to laugh at the horrible joke, but then he feels those claws and he realizes it might not be a joke after all. And he’s definitely not going to turn away from Derek, not with this.

“Derek—can we—please?” he begs, pushing himself back against Derek’s hard erection.

“Yes. Yesss,” the wolf hisses between fangs, starting a slow pace as he ruts against Stiles’ ass, relishing in the soft little mewls and moans his mate makes against him.

He takes his hand and wraps it around Stiles’ cock, pumping his mates dick a few times, being careful not to touch him with his claws.

But it seems Stiles delights in the added knowledge of danger, he keens and fucks into Derek’s hand and the wolf goes wild at the noises.

His mate, his beautiful mate. God, he just wants to keep Stiles in his arms forever, wants to make _love_ to his make.

Derek growls, pressing Stiles' head back by the hold on his throat, and he fucks his hips harder against Stiles' ass, slipping his cock between Stiles' cheeks and rubbing his cock against Stiles' hole.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles chokes out, keening as he feels the head of Derek's cock rub over his hole, and he clenches as if he can _feel_ Derek in him.

Derek snarls, bending his head to press his fangs against one pale shoulder, and fucks against Stiles while giving hard strokes to Stiles' cock.

He _needs_ to feel Stiles cum in his hand, he _needs_ to cum against Stiles and _claim_ , he needs _his_ mate to cry out for _him_ and _him_ alone.

Stiles keens, desperate and aching, fucking his hips into Derek's hand and pressing back against Derek.

 _This_ is like the first wet-dream Derek inspired in him, _this_ is wild and dominating, and Stiles loves it, loves the feel of Derek pressing against his back, the way Derek's broad and strong body makes him feel small and protected despite the hard snap of his hips against him and the rather tight grip around his dick, the firm grip of Derek's fangs against his shoulder as if to remind him to keep still.

Stiles is going to cum, and he's going to cum fast if Derek keeps this up.

“I’m close. God, I’m so close, Der,” Stiles whines, panting as Derek places a hand on his hip to hold him still.

“Cum for me, baby. I wanna see you spill all over my hand.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes— _ah_ ,” Stiles claws at Derek’s skin when the man jerks him off some more, his dick coming in spurts all over the older man’s hand. “ _Der_.”

Groaning, Derek pushes just the top of his cock up against Stiles’ hole, just wanting to tease his mate a bit, before coming undone himself. He practically howls against his mate’s throat, his whole body seeming to curl around Stiles’ body.

“Mine,” the werewolf snarls, pumping Stiles’ cock a little bit more before pulling his hand up to lap at the cum before it washes away from the water.

He moans at the taste of Stiles’ cum, licking it, sucking it off his fingers.

“Taste good?” Stiles melts against Derek’s chest, turning his head a little to press a kiss to Derek’s skin.

Derek rumbles as he turns his head to nuzzle against Stiles' hair as he keeps Stiles close to him, wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist and another around his chest.

"You've made us dirty again," Stiles complains lightly, resting his head against Derek's shoulder, feeling limp and worn out.

"You smell right," Derek tells him, pressing a kiss to the side of Stiles' head.

"Because I got your cum all over my ass?" Stiles asks dryly, and Derek presses a smirk to the side of Stiles' head.

"Yeah," Derek replies, reluctantly removing his arms from around Stiles to soap up his hands again, and continue his previous job of cleaning Stiles.

Stiles remains slumped against him, satisfied and worn out, and Derek takes a measure of delight in rubbing his hands all over Stiles' skin.

Stiles whimpers slightly as Derek takes his time in washing Stiles' cock and balls, "You're mean."

"I'm getting you clean," Derek says innocently, rubbing a thumb under the head of Stiles' cock. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"I'm sensitive," Stiles complains lightly, squirming slightly against Derek, and making the werewolf nip his shoulder.

"Stay still," Derek tells him, giving his mate another nip as Stiles just slumps against him and Derek deems Stiles' cock and balls clean. "Lean against wall for a moment."

Stiles give a protesting sound, but does as he's told and leans against the wall.

Derek strokes down Stiles' back, brushing over each mole and wanting to press a kiss to each one. But he resists as he spreads Stiles' cheeks wide, exposing Stiles' pink pucker and the cum over it.

The urge to push his cum into Stiles' ass is strong, to thumb it up and press it in, and press his claim into Stiles' body.

Derek ignores it, and lets the water wash the cum away, though he does rub his thumb over that little pucker, rumbling as he watches Stiles clench and unclench his ass, his hole almost winking at Derek.

Holding his wolf back by the reins so he doesn’t do anything stupid, Derek bites his lip as he lets himself wash off the cum.

As much as he doesn’t want to and it pains him a little bit to even do this, he does it because he knows Stiles will complain about the dried cum.

Also his mom will probably make a joke or two, not that Peter _wasn’t_ already planning on doing so, it’s just Derek had to take the time to handle the horrible jokes his _mom_ will make.

“We should do this more,” Stiles mumbles, “We don’t have to do the sex thing, but like you know—the bathing part. I just—it’s nice. I really enjoy showering with you.”

Derek rumbles in response, “Me too.”

Hiding his smile, Stiles hums to himself as Derek continued to clean him off.

When the werewolf finishes, he shuts off the water and reaches out to grab a towel, drying them both off and grinning when Stiles laughs as Derek dries his head with the soft towel.

"Let's get dressed into something comfortable, yeah?" Stiles suggests as Derek throws the wet towels into humper tucked next to the door.

"Okay," Derek shrugs as he walks into their bedroom, naked and without a care, Stiles' gaze dropping down and watching the muscles move and that ass bounce. "Coming?"

Derek pauses at the doorway, turning slightly to smirk at his mate.

"Yeah, yep, totally, coming, as in walking and not the other thing, and I'm going to shut up now," Stiles presses his lips together as Derek gives a huff of laughter.

* * *

Stiles follows Derek back into their bedroom, following Derek over to the set of drawers, and taking the plain red boxers that Derek hands over.

Stiles slips them on, pulling them up, and watching Derek bend down to put on his own plain black boxers, pulling them up and over Derek's glorious ass.

A glorious ass that Stiles has cummed against, _twice._

He's broken from his thoughts by Derek throwing a pair of sweatpants at his chest, and he fumbles to catch them as Derek turns with a smirk back to the drawers to grab his own sweatpants.

Stiles supposes he should be happy that Peter didn't deny him the comfort of sweatpants, especially considering how the man took so much of his clothing.

"I forgot to bitch at Peter for stealing my clothes," Stiles realises with his sweatpants only half-way up his legs.

Derek snorts as he closes the drawer holding his things after picking out a shirt for Stiles to wear.

"You can do that after dinner," Derek tells him as he watches Stiles finish pulling up the sweatpants before handing over the soft shirt.

"True," Stiles agrees as he takes the shirt, blinking as he realises the maroon long-sleeved with thumb-holes belongs to Derek. "This looks so soft, why don't you wear things like this more?"

"It's a bit big," Derek says with a shrug.

People like Derek in tight clothes, things that show off his body, not things like the top he handed over to Stiles.

“You should wear bigger things more often. I think it suits you better,” Stiles takes the shirt from Derek’s hands before the man can put on another tight Henley. “Come on, be my sweater buddy. Please.”

“Fine,” Derek huffs, blushing when Stiles pulls out a green long-sleeve t-shirt and helps Derek put it on.

It makes the older man flustered a bit, as he’s not use to wearing loose fitted clothing.

Even during winter he was still wearing tight fitted shirts, short or long sleeved. He didn’t really care.

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s drying hair and coos at how soft it feels to the touch.

“Softy wolf,” Stiles kisses Derek’s lips, rubbing his hands over the man’s jaw next. “My wolf.”

Derek purrs happily at the praise, and wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, so he can pull his mate closer to him, letting Stiles stand between his legs so he can kiss his mate some more, and rumble at the gentle touches his mate gives him.

A knock on the door pulls them both out of their little bubble, Peter announcing behind the wood, “Dinner is ready, pups. Come out and get it while it’s still hot.”

“Coming, Peter!” Stiles calls back, turning his head to press another kiss to Derek’s lips. “Come on, Der, I’m starving.”

“Well, you did just cum like three times,” Derek snorts.

"Yeah, yeah I did," Stiles grins up at him, a somewhat stupid grin that makes Derek snort as he ducks his head to kiss those grinning lips. "Food, we need food."

Derek pulls back with one last kiss, tightening his grip around Stiles' waist for a moment before reluctantly letting go.

Stiles slips his hand into Derek's, tugging him towards the door, and Derek's lip twitch up slightly as Stiles laces their fingers together.

Peter is standing outside their door, a smirk curling his lips as he leans against the wall across from the door.

"Food won out over sex, then?" Peter asks cheekily, Derek flushing slightly while Stiles tries to ignore his own blush as he raises his chin defiantly.

"For now," Stiles tells him and Peter chuckles as he pushes off the wall behind him and heads towards the kitchen.

"I wonder what Jackson will say when he realises how much you two smell like cum," Peter muses, and Stiles chokes slightly.

"We showered!" Stiles protests, and Peter chuckles as he shakes his head.

"Having sex in the shower somewhat defeats the purpose of having one in the first place," Peter informs him, a smirk clear in his voice as he enters the kitchen in front of them.

"So," Jackson eyes the both of them for a moment before turning his attention more on his brother. "How big is Stiles' dick?"

Chris closes his eyes with a sigh and thinks to himself, _yes, that's definitely Peter's son._

Stiles gives a strangled noise, turning to hide his face against Derek's arm, and Derek gives Jackson a look of disbelief.

“It’s big enough,” Derek tells him as answer.

“So does that mean it’s big or is it _big_? Come on, help a guy out. I’m your little brother, I should get a free pass,” Jackson whines.

“Yes, you’re my _little brother_ , asking about _my mate’s_ private areas,” the older man gives Jackson a raised eyebrow, but it obviously goes over Jackson’s head.

“Okay. So?”

Scrubbing at his face and sighing, Derek gives in to Jackson’s pestering, he holds up his hands and makes a bit of an estimated length of Stiles’ dick.

Jackson stares at it, and then looks at Stiles, who had walked away at the start of the conversation to chat with Allison, and then looks back at Derek. He looks up at Derek, then to Derek’s hands, and then back again.

“ _Wow_.”

“I know,” Derek totally doesn’t get smug, he doesn’t.

He can just be weirdly proud that his boyfriend has a large dick.

"I need to buy a new dildo," Jackson says as he stares at the space between Derek's hands.

Derek drops his hands and stares at Jackson in disbelief, " _Really_?"

"Hey, I need something to nurse my broken heart with," Jackson defends himself as he leans back in his chair at the table. "I won't be able to ever touch or have the real thing in me. I deserve to have an idea of what it'd feel like, having him in me, fucking me."

There's a slightly dreamy tone creeping into Jackson's voice, and Derek immediately gives him a light punch to the shoulder as he smells Jackson's arousal.

"Ouch!" Jackson yelps, rubbing his shoulder as he glares up at an unimpressed Derek. "Let me daydream in peace!"

"You're daydreaming about _my mate_ fucking you," Derek glares at him.

"It's not like I'm pushing him down and riding that dick for all it's worth!" Jackson protests, Chris turning on his heels and deciding putting down the drinks can wait until _that_ , whatever _that_ was, is over. "Though that dick is _made_ for fucking, fuck, I bet it would feel so _good_."

Derek punches him in the shoulder again.

" _Mom_!" Jackson whines out, rubbing his shoulder again with a pout. "Derek's hitting me!"

"You keep talking about fucking _my mate_!" Derek protests, turning to look at Peter. "Tell him to stop!"

"I'm just saying that his dick needs to be used for fucking!" Jackson defends himself. "To not let him fuck would be a waste of that dick!"

" _Why_ won't he stop with my dick already?" Stiles bemoans as Allison giggles and pats his shoulder with zero sympathy.

“Both of you stop fighting. Stiles is his own person, and he can fuck or be fucked by whoever he wants,” Peter diffuses the argument, “Derek, you’re a werewolf. You know your punches are going to hurt more than a normal person. Jackson, Stiles is dating Derek, stop trying to get between them. I understand you have a crush on Stiles, but maybe it’s time to move on.”

Both teenagers cross their arms, and practically pout at being told off by their mom.

Stiles snickers a little at them both, standing up to walk over and wrap his arms around his mate.

“Stop pouting, you know he’s right,” he presses a kiss to Derek’s lips.

“But—“

“Ah. No. No arguing,” Stiles puts a finger over Derek’s lips to stop him from arguing any further.

Derek grumbles as he pulls Stiles close, a sulky "Mine," makes Stiles snicker slightly.

"I wasn't trying to get between them," Jackson sulks, his arms still crossed as he glares at table. "Just wanted to get the right dildo and imagine being fucked by him."

Lydia snorts as she closes the book she's read, and gives him a look, "Do you really think it matters when you are saying this to Derek, his werewolf mate?"

"He punched me before I really said anything!" Jackson protests making Lydia roll her eyes at him.

"Children, sit down, dinner is ready," Peter says from the stove, Chris eyeing the teenagers to see if it was safe to bring over the glasses of water now. "Really, Christopher, you are such a prude. It's not like you don't have a dick of your own or that you don't have sex."

"It doesn't mean I want to hear teenagers speak about it," Chris grumbles as he crosses his arms, watching Derek, Stiles and Allison sit at the table.

"I know one teenager you liked hearing speak about sex," Peter leers at Chris, and the older man flushes.

Peter snorts as he finishes dishing up the plates, Derek and Peter's portions noticeably larger than the others.

Stiles squeezes Derek’s thigh when the man sits down next to him, grinning up at his boyfriend and then leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“This is wonderfully delicious,” Lydia states as she takes a bite of the food Peter made. “Oh my god, this is _so good_.”

Peter preens as everyone compliments his cooking, and the wolf inside of him dances around on its paws over it because he’s done good with providing for his pack.

Derek wolfs everything done and grabs seconds, which makes Peter even more happier.

His son used to always get seconds even thirds, but then started cutting down to one plate which wasn’t good for a growing werewolf boy.

Stiles even encouraged Derek to get some more food, while Derek also dropped a spoonful of potatoes on Stiles’ plate.

“You need to eat more too. You’re all skin and bones,” Derek kisses his mate’s cheek.

“I’m not that bony,” Stiles argues, but it falls flat when everyone at the table gives him a look.

"I'm _not_!" Stiles protests at the looks, a pout forming on his lips. "I eat well."

"Stiles, this week is the most I've seen in eat in years," Jackson says flatly as he cuts into his potatoes.

"I eat _fine_!" Stiles stresses to everyone, giving them a look.

"I can see your ribs," Peter points out flatly. "That's not a good thing."

"You're all making a big deal out of nothing," Stiles huffs, but cuts into this extra portion of potatoes anyway.

Peter makes an unconvinced noise, wondering if he should ask Noah about what Stiles normally eats especially if Jackson is right, and this week is the most Stiles has been eating in years.

But then again, Peter thinks as he serves himself a second and smaller portion of food, maybe he wouldn't know considering how much the older man works.

“We’re just concerned about you, Stiles. Pack takes care of Pack,” Peter grins at the teenager.

Derek nods his head in agreement.

“You guys are too nice,” Stiles huffs, but the annoyance in his voice is just an act.

Because truthfully he loves the fact that Peter and Derek both want to take care of him.

It’s nice knowing he’s not alone anymore.

Not that he wasn’t before, but sometimes—most of the time—it was just him at the house and he got...well lonely...

Not that he's really complaining or anything! His dad has an important job to do, a lot of people depending on him to keep them safe and all that.

Stiles understood that a job like that means sometimes things came a distance second to his dad, that Stiles feels like he comes a distance second and sometimes third?

Well, that was a him problem and not his dad's problem.

And he's fine, really he is.

And yeah, maybe he's selfishly glad that both Derek and Peter seems to want him here all the time, maybe he's avoiding going home a bit and being alone, and maybe he's probably shooting himself in the foot by spending every night curled up with Derek.

Because eventually, Derek's going to want space or he'll not be able to spend the night when Stiles' dad wants him home, and Stiles won't be able to sleep because he's gotten too used to sleeping with Derek.

Eventually, everyone wants space from Stiles, and he knows that, accepts that, because he knows he's too much, too clingy, too loud and talkative. People can only take so much of him before they need a bit of space, some breathing room and _quiet_.

Clearing his head from the sad thoughts, Stiles goes back to finishing his food.

“So when are you going to give Jackson the Bite?” he looks up to Peter.

“After dinner, of course. It’s best to do it on a full stomach, and then we’ll see how it’ll take effect. I’d like it if you, Allison and Lydia were in another room. Perhaps practicing your magic,” Peter tells him honestly.

Jackson makes a noise, “Why can’t Stiles be with me?”

“Well, when you get the Bite you’re going to want to do two things when you wake up. Bite and maim anything around you,” Peter explains lightly, “And I’m sure neither of you want to claw Stiles open.”

Jackson goes a little pale at that and shakes his head.

“Great. Derek will be there to help if you get loose. Not that I can’t handle you on my own.”

"Really? Scott didn't really start with the, you know, attempting to maim me until like the next day," Stiles says curiously.

"Scott didn't turn immediately," Peter reminds Stiles patiently. "Jackson is being turned by an Alpha that wants him, and he's the son of a werewolf so his body won't fight the Bite."

"Huh," Stiles says in interest. "So, he'll turn immediately?"

"Much like you would have if you weren't magic," Peter agrees as he finishes his dinner. "Remember how you woke up with no sign of the Bite? You accepted me as your Alpha, I accepted you as my Beta, and your body didn't attempt to fight the Bite."

"The body can fight it?" Lydia asks curiously, setting her cutlery over her empty pale. "What happens?"

"The Bite doesn't always take," Peter glances somewhat worriedly at Derek at this topic of conversation. "Sometimes the body fights against the Bite, rejects it, and well, it's a painful death for the person."

Derek frowns down at the remains of his meal, shivering slightly as he remembers the black blood Paige coughed up, the pain in her voice.

He shakes his head of old and dark memories, focusing on Stiles next to him and placing his hand on Stiles' thigh. Stiles rests his hand over Derek's, giving it a squeeze.

"You okay?" Stiles asks lowly, and Derek nods his head, not wanting to worry Stiles.

* * *

When they finish dinner, Derek helps Stiles with doing the dishes while Allison and Lydia move to the study.

Chris stands with Peter who goes over the pros and cons of being a werewolf.

He gives the werewolf pros and cons, while Chris gives the Hunter pros and cons.

“Be safe,” Stiles tells his boyfriend, tugging Derek down for another kiss.

Derek snorts, “I’m a born werewolf, what could go wrong?”

“Don’t say things like that! You could jinx yourself. Ugh, you’re such—“ Stiles shakes his head before he can finish the statement, glaring at the smirk on Derek’s face. “Quit acting cocky, it’s not cute.”

“I think it’s charming. Now give me another kiss before I go deal with my annoying little brother,” Derek licks Stiles’ lips, and pushing him up against the counter.

Stiles gives a small moan as he opens up for Derek's tongue, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck.

Derek lifts Stiles onto the counter, the younger teen wrapping his legs around his waist, and Derek groans as he pulls Stiles closer until their crotches are rubbing against each other.

"This isn't just a kiss," Stiles gasps out, head dropping back and exposing his throat for Derek to press kisses against, sucking a mark where the neck joins the shoulder, right where he'd bite down and _claim_ Stiles as his mate. " _Fuck_ , Derek."

Derek rumbles deep in his chest as Stiles presses closer to him, one hand tangling in his hair and pulling his head back, so Stiles can kiss him.

"No sex in the kitchen!" Peter calls out, his voice acting like a douse of cold water thrown over them as they freeze. "I cook in there!"

"It's kitchen sex he draws a line at?" Stiles asks with some disbelief as Derek drops his head against Stiles' shoulder and tries to regain control over himself. "He has no problem seducing Chris in front of us, but some heavy making-out in the kitchen and the possibility of kitchen sex is where he draws the line?"

" _Stiles_ ," Derek almost groans, almost thankful that he's wearing sweatpants as it gives him room for his hard cook.

“Anyways,” Stiles huffs, running his nose against Derek’s skin and slipping down to stand, and press a kiss to those wet lips of Derek’s, “You need to go do babysitting duty, and I need to go practice my magic.”

Derek grumbles, “What if we just went back to my room, and continue where we left off?”

Laughing, Stiles shakes his head and kisses Derek once more, “Come on, Der. We’ve got responsibilities to do besides making out.”

“Fine,” the werewolf tries to hide his pout, but it’s to no use.

“Be good, and try not to maim Jackson. He’s still your little brother, even if he’s annoying at times.”

"If he mentions your dick one more time..." Derek trails off with a growl, hands dropping to Stiles' hips, and having to resist the urge to pull Stiles against him.

"Then maim him a little, but only a little," Stiles warns him as he sees the rather evil smirk curling at Derek's lips. "Wish me luck with magic."

"No more fire," Derek warns him, kissing at the pout Stiles levels at him. "Good luck."

"Good luck with Jackson," Stiles tells him in return, kissing Derek's jaw before slipping from Derek's grip and towards the archway leading to the hallway and not the living room.

Derek adjusts himself in his sweatpants, squeezing his cock slightly, and resisting the urge to chase down Stiles.

* * *

Derek sighs as he turns to enter the living room, walking through the archway, and getting a disgruntled look from Jackson.

" _Really_?" Jackson demands with his arms crossed as he sits in one of the armchairs—not Peter's favourite leather armchair though—and with Chris and Peter stood in front of him. "I'm about to have the Bite, and you are about to have sex with Stiles in the _kitchen_?"

"I was making out with _my mate_ in the kitchen," Derek corrects, feeling slightly smug.

"I can see your cock through your sweatpants," Jackson deadpans, giving a pointed glance to the obvious hardon his brother isn't even really trying to hide. “That says sex.”

"I'm not into incest," Derek deadpans into return, watching with something close to glee as Jackson's face immediately scrunches in disgust.

"Eww," Jackson fake gags, and Derek crosses his arms with a smirk.

"Boys," Peter almost pinches at his nose, resisting the urge to shake his head. "Can we focus on the Bite and the transformation into a werewolf that Jackson is about to undergo?"

“Maybe,” Jackson mumbles and Derek rolls his eyes.

God, who knew having a younger brother was so annoying?

“Right. If you’ll follow me, I’d rather not have a rabid werewolf loose in my living area,” Peter turns and leads them to his primary study.

It’s almost like out of a movie, because one moment there’s a bookcase. The next Peter is pulling a book and the entire thing is moving forward like a door.

“So, is this when you reveal you’re actually the villain?” Jackson jokes, earning a snort from the three men.

“As if. I’d have you tied to a chair, if I was doing something silly like that,” Peter scoffs and leads them to a single cement room that has chains against the wall.

“Uuuh—“

“One joke about BDSM and I’m going to make you regret it,” Peter snaps, and Jackson closes his mouth. “This room was built for if the kids ever needed to control themselves on the full moon. It’s not for fun, it’s a safe place where they can let loose and go wild without harming anyone.”

Jackson grimaces slightly as he takes in the room.

"It'll be where you will be spending full moons unless you have a good grasp of your anchor, and I believe you are safe to be around the humans of our Pack," Peter says grimly, and Jackson grimaces deeper. "Don't worry, you'll have Scott for company."

"Oh, hell no," Jackson shakes his head immediately. "I'm not spending a fucking night with Scott fucking McCall in this room. I refuse."

"Then make sure you have a good grasp of your anchor," Peter tells him simply, "or you _will_ be joining Scott here."

Jackson grumbles, but he doesn't argue again.

"I won't restrain you for this," Peter says as he motions Chris back, the older man rolling his eyes but moving until he's leaning against the wall and watching closely. "It would just strain our bond as Alpha and Beta, however Derek will be on standby to restrain you if it's needed."

Jackson nods, looking slightly nervous, and he rolls up his shirt sleeves to reveal both wrists.

"You can still say no," Peter tells him, not making a move towards his youngest son.

"I want this," Jackson says firmly, holding out his right arm, and Peter walks over and takes hold of the arm firmly.

"This will hurt," Peter warns him, and Jackson steels himself as Peter cracks his neck and the shift ripples over his face: blue bleeding into bloody red, nose flattening and broadening, brow becoming pronounced and fangs dropping.

Jackson's breathing hitches slightly, but he doesn't flinch away, and he doesn't say he's changed his mind.

Chris tenses slightly, the instincts beaten in him saying that he should be stopping this, but he trusts Peter, he loves Peter, and he stays where he is.

Peter places his fangs around Jackson's wrist, giving him a moment for Jackson to change his mind, and then he bites down as Jackson gives a little cry of pain.

When he pulls away, Peter wipes the small amount of blood on his lips, and stands back.

Derek stands back with his arms crossed over his chest as he waits.

All three of them wait, and they wait. Jackson the most impatient of them all as he asks a million questions, almost like a carbon copy of Stiles.

“Please, enough of the questions. Before I lose my patience with you,” Peter snaps at the teenager.

Jackson _growls_ like actually growls at Peter, and his eyes flash gold, “Well, we’ve been sitting here for so long, when is the shift supposed to happen!”

Peter opens his mouth, but then Jackson is jumping up and the shift is taking over his face as he roars.

Derek drops his arms, cracking his neck as he lets the shift take over, and steps forward, ready to put Jackson on his ass.

Golden eyes flash to Derek, a snarl curling Jackson's lips as the younger teenager crouches.

Jackson's nostrils flares, a scent that screams _Stiles_ in his mind heavily covering the werewolf in front of him, and he lunges at the person covered in the scent of _his_ Pack mate, _his_ Stiles.

Derek ducks Jackson's wild lunge, grabbing the younger teen by the nape of his neck and slamming him down on the ground with a growl as Jackson bucks and growls at him.

" **Enough** ," Peter snaps in a growl, the Alpha command clear in his voice, and both teenage werewolves freeze and bare their necks in submission.

Chris shifts against the wall, refusing to admit just how much _that_ tone of Peter's turns him on, though the flash of red eyes turning to him shows him that his wolf already knows.

Peter prowls over to his sons, feeling the heat of his mate's gaze drop and rest on his ass, and crouches beside them.

Peter cups Derek's neck first, squeezing the back of Derek's neck and watching his Pup slump with a whine, and then he moves to do the same to Jackson, squeezing and watching all aggression seep from Jackson as he slumps with his own whine.

"Good," Peter rumbles deeply with approval.

Standing back up, Peter watches as both Derek and Jackson shake off the shift.

Their eyes still glowing those eerily colours, and Jackson glares at Derek like the older man killed his dog.

“What is that _smell_?” Jackson sniffs, glancing around and then nosing at Derek’s chest, right where Stiles touched him earlier. “Smells _goo_ —”

“Back off,” Derek growls, letting his wolf take over as he snarls down the younger wolf.

Peter sighs, and rolls his eyes at the two of them, “I should have seen this coming.”

“It’s only going to get worse when Scott joins in,” Chris adds on.

“Which is why I need Derek to be able to control his emotions with Jackson around, so I can leave them alone while I deal with the Omega. Perhaps I’ll have to get you or Stiles to babysit, because _these two_ want to act like puppies,” he says this, and yet Jackson and Derek ignore him in favour of snarling at one another.

Chris snorts in amusement, crossing his arms as he watches Jackson trying to take greedy breaths of the scent on Derek while Derek snarls and pushes him away.

"I expected more of an outburst," Chris admits as Peter decides to leave his sons to it, and retreats back to Chris.

"He just needed a reminder that he's Pack and who is in charge," Peter shrugs, sighing as Derek finally pins Jackson to the ground with a growl. "Somehow, I think this will be worse when Stiles is around."

"Is this because of Jackson's crush on Stiles?" Chris asks as he glances at Peter, and Peter presses his lips together as he thinks.

"It certainly doesn't help," Peter admits with a slight grimace as he watches Jackson elbow Derek, biting back an amused smile as the two of them start rolling around more like puppies then fearsome werewolves. "But Stiles and Jackson grew up together, and part of Jackson has always considered Stiles as _his_ since then. _His_ friend, _his_ Pack, and when he developed his crush? _His_ Stiles, which brings conflict between him and Derek as Stiles is _Derek's_ mate.

Jackson is rather lucky that he is Derek's brother as wolves as a whole are protective and possessive of their mates, and if Jackson's wasn't his brother then Derek would have put him in his place, rather violently, considering Jackson's propositions to Stiles."

"You speak as if Jackson has been a werewolf from the start," Chris remarks, and Peter shrugs a shoulder.

"Humans born of a werewolf parent normally shows the same wolfish traits as a werewolf," Peter explains as he presses his shoulder against Chris', watching Jackson and Derek roll and snap without doing any real harm to each other, like he said, puppies. "Jackson most likely has been conditioned by his parents and society to ignore his instincts and act more human. It'll probably be a relief to understand them, and have a place where he can freely indulge in them, even if it'll cause some conflict with Derek if it involves Stiles."

Derek huffs and sits back on his haunches as he eyes Jackson, his shirt already has a few tears in it from where Jackson lost control of himself.

His younger brother keeps trying to take his shirt so he can inhale Stiles scent, but Derek isn’t having it.

By tomorrow he’s going to make sure Jackson gets it through his thick skull that Stiles belongs to _him_.

Baring his fangs when Jackson creeps closer, Derek waits for the Beta to try something.

Jackson chuffs and ducks low before trying to jump on Derek, but the older man is faster and easily doffed the attack.

Peter rolls his eyes at the two of them, and motions with his hand, “See? What did I tell you? Practically overgrown puppies.”

“Let’s just hope Jackson can figure out his anchor so he doesn’t shift on accident,” Chris hums, blushing when Peter lounges against his side.

"He has the weekend to figure it out, and Stiles is rather good at spotting when we're losing control," Peter reminds him. "He'll be able to distract Jackson, and help bring him back under control."

Jackson growls as he leaps at Derek, and Derek ducks and lets his brother sail over him before pouncing on the younger teen.

"Is there a way for Derek to prove Stiles is his without violence?" Chris asks curiously, and Peter lets a smirk curl his lips.

"There _is,_ " Peter agrees as he turns to give Chris a wicked look. "But it's something that your prudish sensibilities won't like."

Chris gives him a look of disbelief, "You're kidding me, right?"

"No," Peter shakes his head. "Sex in front of the Pack is often used as a dominance play or a way to show off your mate. Derek will probably end up doing something sexual with Stiles to prove the point that Stiles is his."

"Is that why you've been seducing me in front of the kids?" Chris hisses with a flush, and Peter laughs as he moves so he's pressed against Chris' front.

"I can't help that I want to show off my mate," Peter tells him as he wraps his arms around Chris' shoulders and the Hunter's hands grip his hips. "That I want to show off how well my mate takes care of me."

"Peter," Chris warns, hold tightening of Peter's hips, but his head falls back against the wall willingly as Peter lowers his mouth to Chris' neck.

Derek gags when he smells the mixed scent of Chris’s and his _mother’s_ scent of arousal.

He lets a low snarl start up in the back of his throat and gets a growl back from Peter himself.

“Don’t be such a prude, Pup,” Peter huffs, pulling back from where he was sucking a nicely sized hickey on Chris’s throat.

“Aren’t we supposed to be teaching Jackson control? Not trying to fuck in front of him,” the older teen huffs, ignoring Jackson who tried to tackle him to the ground, but Derek is like an immovable pillar.

“You’re no fun,” Peter stands back up and comes over to the both of them. “Alright, Jackson, let’s work on controlling your shift.”

“Fine,” Jackson pulls away from Derek, only to try and give him another push.

Derek snorts, unimpressed, and shoves him back, smirking when it makes the shorter Beta stumble.

"Pup," Peter gives Derek a chiding look, and Derek grumbles slightly as he crosses his arms. "Right, Jackson, focus on me."

Jackson scowls at Derek, eyes flicking down to the shirt he's wearing, before looking at Peter with a small huff.

"Yes, yes, Stiles smells good," Peter says with a roll of his eyes. "But you won't be able to be near him if you can't control yourself."

Derek growls, unable to believe that Peter's using _his mate_ as a bait for Jackson to learn to control himself.

"Control all depends on the strength of your anchor," Peter lectures them. "Some werewolves use an emotion, some use the Pack as a whole, some on a chant or mantra, and some use a memory. What matters is it connects you to your humanity, allows you to control your more brutal animalist instincts, and stops you giving into bloodlust."

"What do you use?" Jackson asks curiously as he glances between them.

"When I woke up? Revenge, it wasn't a good thing and didn't help," Peter shrugs. "But after Stiles became Pack, I was able to return my anchor back to what it was before," Peter glances at Derek for a moment. "Derek."

Derek flushes, ducking his head slightly.

"I also use Chris as my mate," Peter adds. "But Chris and I have a lot of history that wasn't always good, and that weakens the effect of using him."

"I use Stiles," Derek admits, averting his gaze and his ears turning red as he reveals something private, something he hadn't yet shared with Stiles. "He's my mate, a constant in my life. I used anger for the last six years, it.....it wasn't the best or healthiest anchor."

Jackson almost bites clear through his lip with his fangs as he thinks, wondering what he could use for an anchor.

He immediately dismisses using his parents, his feelings are still kind of complicated when thinking of them, and he hadn't even told them about Peter yet.

Jackson’s mind then falls back to Stiles; his best friend, the person who’s always had his back and he trusted.

He knows it’s a bit of a cheap move since Derek had admitted the teenager was his anchor.

But Jackson had known Stiles longer, was his first friend since they were in pre-school and since forth. Sure there was a bit of a strain when McCall came into town, and the asshole pushed Jackson out of the way.

Sure, Jackson was an asshole but only to Scott. That back stabbing, friend stealing dickwad.

Jackson was never mean to Stiles though, maybe he ignored him a bit, but it was because he knew if he didn’t then something bad was going to happen.

“Stiles,” Jackson answers, and before Derek can snap at him he was speaking again, “It’s not because I have a crush on him, we’ve been friends since childhood. And I have the strongest connection with him than anyone else.”

Derek scowls, but says nothing.

Peter gives Derek an approving look, thankfully that Derek doesn't say anything against Jackson using Stiles' as an anchor.

"Then focus on Stiles," Peter encourages Jackson. "Remember the good memories with him, his scent, the sound of his voice. Let it anchor you, focus on him and let the shift go."

Jackson focuses, remembering being a kid and playing all day with Stiles.

He remembers building blanket forts in Stiles' bedroom, the chatter Stiles kept up as Jackson cuddled him aggressively. He remembers sharing cookies with Stiles, a chocolate smeared grin thrown his way as amber eyes sparkle.

He remembers the scent of vanilla, cinnamon and lighting on Derek's shirt, the scent that means _Stiles_.

He thinks of the shifting tones of his voice, the sound of laughter as Stiles grins at him.

He thinks of Stiles, forever loyal in his own way, selfishly and selflessly loving Stiles, and he can feel his face shift, melting away, and Jackson blinks blue-eyes at the both of them.

"There, that's good," Peter says in approval. "Well done."

Jackson flushes a little under the small amount of praise Peter gives him, and is actually startled when Derek gives him a pat on the shoulder.

“Good job, little brother,” and then Derek is pulling Jackson into a head lock so he can mess up the kids hair.

“Dude!” Jackson growls, without losing his control on his shift.

“Just making sure you know your place,” Derek smirks and then let’s him go.

Jackson pushes away from him and then fixes his hair, grumbling and growling under his breath.

“Can we go see Stiles now?” Jackson huffs, giving up on his hair when he realizes it’s not going to be fixed.

“No,” Peter ignores the puppy dog eyes Derek and Jackson are giving him. “Stiles needs to practice, and Lydia needs some peace and quiet to study. The both of you will just have to deal with being in here for another hour.”

“Lame,” Jackson grumbles, “I didn’t even bring my phone with me.”

Derek grumbles as he moves to lean against the wall, trying not to pout.

Jackson sits on the floor with a huff, leaning back on his hands as he looks around the bare room with several chains hanging from the walls.

"Does this mean I won't have to spend the night stuck in here with McCall?" Jackson asks hopefully, and Peter rolls his eyes.

"We'll see how well you do around the others," Peter says without committing to anything.

Jackson doesn't pout, he _doesn't_.

"Do we have to stay in _here_?" Jackson doesn't whine, no matter what the looks Derek and Peter give him suggests. "Can't we wait out there?"

Peter snorts as he crosses his arms, "And have you track down Stiles the moment you catch his scent? I don't think so."

"It's boring in here," Jackson says as he drops his head back to glare at the ceiling.

"I didn't make this room for fun and games," Peter reminds him dryly.

"Why do _I_ need to stay here?" Derek asks mulishly, and Peter rolls his eyes.

"Because you will just go straight to Stiles too," Peter says with no doubt in his tone. "We both saw what he can do while distracted, and we all know that you are the biggest distraction to him."

Derek doesn't know if he should preen at the very true fact or pout that he's being denied his mate.

“You both can use this as quality time,” Peter smiles, just wanting both his sons to get together.

“Me, being nice to _him_?” Jackson points at Derek who’s gone back to leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Yes. I promise he won’t bite your finger off,” Peter taps his chin, “Well, maybe.”

“Mom!”

“Oh hush now, the both of you need to stop acting like such children,” Peter shakes his head, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but I guess I will.”

Peter starts to take off his shirt and pants, ignoring the noise Jackson makes as the teenager immediately covers his eyes.

“Mom, what the hell!” Jackson yells and Chris looks like he’s asking the same thing as his face goes red when Peter gets completely naked.

“Relax,” Peter shifts his shoulders and then starts to shift into his Alpha form.

Derek sighs, already resigned, and lets the shift take over.

"What the fuck?" Jackson blurts out as he stares up towering form Peter has taken on.

Peter snorts at him as he pads over and curls around Jackson's back, giving Derek a look, and chuffing happily as he sees his pup already heading towards him.

"What is this?" Jackson demands as Derek curls against Peter.

"Pack-piles," Derek answers before Peter shifts, and Jackson squawks as Peter grabs the both of them, shifting all of them around until Derek and Jackson are being shoved together, and Peter can hug the both of them at the same time. "It helps with Pack bonding."

"You're in my space," Jackson grumbles, trying to shove at Derek, and Peter growls, nipping at Jackson.

“This is weird...but also comfortable? Ugh, werewolves,” Jackson mumbles but for some reason is feeling sleepy.

He noses against the soft fur at his side, and inhales the sweet scent of mother with that muscly mix of Alpha.

Humming, Jackson cuddles a little further against the warm fur at his back, even cuddles up to Derek and finds himself falling fast asleep. Derek chuffs and licks at his mother’s cheek before also settling down for a nap.

Jackson isn’t at his full strength and yet he’s already exhausted Derek enough, plus three rounds of amazing sex with his mate, he was in need of a nap.

Chris comes over when he hears the soft snores of the two teenagers.

He’s startled when he feels a cold snout press against his skin, and Peter licks at his hand.

The Alpha is _massive_ in this form and Chris is very happy in this moment he has never gone against an Alpha in full shift.

“Do you think I should bring them something to eat when they wake up?” Chris jokes, running his hands through Peter’s fur and trying to hold back the strange feeling of arousal he’s getting.

Peter inhales deeply, rumbling as he scents his mate's arousal, and his eyes seem to burn an even brighter red before Chris jumps as Peter's snout moves to nuzzle at his crotch.

" _Peter_ ," Chris groans, pushing at Peter's massive head and trying keep him away from his crotch. "Don't, _don't_."

Chris steps back, freezing at Peter's growl of displeasure, and gives his mate a _look_ , "No."

Peter huffs, giving him a look that says he's not letting _this_ go, and he drops his head down and over his pups while looking disapprovingly up at Chris.

"Do not give me that look," Chris tells him, turning slightly as he adjusts himself. "We're not doing _anything_."

Peter growls, unhappy, and gives him another look of displeasure which makes Chris roll his eyes.

Chris turns away, firmly pushing away all thoughts and arousal, and tries to calm the panic building in him that he's _everything_ his family has ever called him.

 _It was because Peter was naked earlier_ , Chris tries to reassure himself, tries to convince himself that he's not sick and wrong like his family always told him.

Pressing a kiss to Peter’s head, Chris strokes down the wolfs fur once more before leaving to make the wolves snacks. And hopefully to get rid of his erection before anything can happen.

Peter rumbles, upset he can’t convince his mate to have a little fun but let’s it slide, curling up closer around his pups and settles there.

* * *

Leaving the room, Chris is about to go to the kitchen only to stop and check on how Allison and the others are doing.

Allison is on the couch reading while Lydia is at the table flipping through five books. And Stiles...

“Where’s Stiles?” he asks, giving everyone a raised eyebrow.

“He’s on the ceiling,” Lydia says nonchalantly.

“WH—?”

Looking up, Chris sees Stiles up against the ceiling like he’s lying down there.

"Hey, Chris," Stiles waves slightly, only a slight tremble in his voice.

"What are you doing up there?" Chris asks as Stiles drops his hand back on his chest.

"That's a good question, a very good question," Stiles nods slightly as he taps his fingers against his chest. "Well, I was practising, like Peter told me to, and well..."

"He's stuck," Allison says as she leans back, so she's staring at her dad upside-down.

"What?" Chris stares blankly at his daughter before looking up at the sheepish-looking Stiles. "You're stuck?"

"Well, maybe, kind of," Stiles starts before Lydia clears her throat, and then he slumps with a sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I'm stuck."

"What were you doing to get stuck?" Chris asks incredulously as he keeps staring up at Stiles.

"I was doing the usual, you know, levitating shit, and then Lydia asked if there was a possibility of me levitating myself," Stiles begins, tapping somewhat nervously over his chest. "And I was like, shit, that's a good idea, why didn't I think of that?"

"Uh-huh," Chris says as he understands where this is going.

"So, I started, you know, trying to levitate myself, and I did it!" Stiles gives a little cheer. "And it was going well, I was like really floating for a while there. And, well, then it wasn't going well."

"Because you got stuck," Chris finishes for him, and Stiles nods with a look that says, 'what can you do?' and shrugs. "How long have you been up there?"

"Err."

"About twenty minutes," Lydia answers without looking up from scribbling something in her notebook, one finger tracing a line in one of the books for her to copy properly.

"And you didn't think to come and get one of us, why?" Chris asks them as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Peter said Jackson would want to maul us," Allison reminds him, and Chris sighs deeply.

"Have you tried to get him down?" Chris asks them, hoping that Allison doesn't actually delve into magic like Stiles.

"We did, for about five minutes," Allison tells him.

“It’s kind of amusing, honestly. He’s like a cat that’s too afraid to come down,” Lydia snickers.

“Stop making fun of me! It’s not funny! It was like the first five minutes, now I really have to pee,” Stiles whines a bit at the last part.

“Okay, okay—uh, let’s see what we can do,” Chris shifts from foot to foot, wondering if he should go and grab Peter but decides against it. “Can you try anchoring yourself? What do you usually do to calm yourself down?”

“I usually think about Derek,” Stiles shrugs, blushing when Allison makes an ‘aw’ sound at him.

“Try and think of Derek then, let the thought of him anchor you and bring you down,” Chris tells the teenager, hoping he doesn’t sound like an idiot.

Stiles sighs, and closes his eyes.

He thinks about Derek; Derek’s smile, his laugh, the way the man leans into his touch and kisses Stiles like it’s the best thing in the world.

Derek's bunny teeth, his eyes crinkling with his smile, the way his ears burn red whenever he blushes, the shy way he ducks his head and peeks up at him, the way he holds Stiles like he's the most precious thing in the world.

"ShIT!" Stiles drops down with a yell, and groans in pain from the floor.

"Stiles!" Allison yelps, and Chris cringes slightly.

"Huh, it worked," Lydia peers down at where Stiles is sprawled on the floor next to her.

"I th'nk I br'ke ma nose," Stiles says in a muffled and thick tone, raising his head, and Chris actually flinches slightly at the blood.

"Oh my god," Allison gasps as she drops her book, and Lydia grimaces as she puts aside her notebook and pen.

"Peter's going to kill me," Chris realises as he moves to kneel beside Stiles. "Don't move, shit."

Chris checks Stiles’ nose, turning it left and right to see what damage has happened.

“Well, I can tell you certain that your nose isn’t broken. But it is bleeding a lot, so how about we take you to the bathroom and patch you up,” Chris pats Stiles’ shoulder, helping him to his feet and making sure he tilts his head forward and not back.

“Man, th’ is noth’ how I thougth my afternoon wath gonna go,” Stiles sighs as he follows Chris to the bathroom, a nervous Allison and Lydia right behind him.

“Should I grab you a new shirt? Yours has blood all over the front,” Allison winces at the sight.

“Oh, pleathe,” Stiles sits down on the toilet seat and grabs the offered tissues, so he can keep the blood from spilling out.

Allison gives a quick nod and almost flees from the bathroom, heading towards Derek's bedroom.

"Next time, I think we should put pillows under you," Lydia says thoughtfully, trying to hide her nervousness as she grabs some more toilet paper and bundling them up to hand over to Stiles.

Stiles takes them and throws his bloody bundle into bin while Chris looks through the cabinets for the first-aid kit.

"Sit up straight," Chris tells Stiles, trying to remember what to do as he looks through first-aid box. "Breathe through your mouth, err, Lydia, can you go to the kitchen and get some frozen peas or maybe see if Peter has ice-packs?"

"Sure," Lydia nods as she hands Stiles another bundle of toilet paper, and goes to leave, almost colliding with Allison as she comes back with a fresh shirt.

"I have a clean shirt!" Allison holds it up in triumph as Chris finally wets a washcloth with warm water and turns to Stiles.

"Let's clean you up," Chris says as he crouches in front of Stiles and raises the cloth to Stiles' face.

Stiles grimaces as he lowers his newest bundle of toilet-paper, and Chris grimaces as he begins to clean the blood from Stiles' face.

“Hopefully, Derek doesn’t flip out when he smells blood,” Stiles sighs, as he lets Chris put a bandage on his nose and changes his shirt out.

Lydia applies the frozen peas to his face, and at first it stings but then he relaxes into the cold feeling.

“I think I’m gonna lie down, all that magic had me tired. And I lost a bit of blood,” Stiles sighs, feeling his shoulders drag a bit.

“Sure. Here, let me help you, Stiles,” Lydia helps the other teen up, and waits until Stiles has gotten his bearings together before moving him to Derek’s room.

It’s the first times she’s actually been in the room before, and Lydia takes her time glancing around at everything while Stiles flops down on the bed.

She runs her fingers over the books, making a noise of interest when she notices all the books on architecture and some that were for college classes.

 _Interesting_ , she thinks to herself.

"Is Derek in college?" Lydia asks with interest, glancing over her shoulder as she brushes her fingers over books of a more fictional nature.

"He's applied or transferred, or something like that to the nearby college," Stiles says as he keeps the frozen peas on his face. "He hasn't told me if he's got in or not. It's only been a week, so maybe not?"

Lydia hums in interest, "What is he studying? Architecture?"

Stiles pauses and lowers his frozen peas as he stares up at the ceiling with a frown, "I...I don't know, I never asked."

"Well, he's has a lot of books about it," Lydia muses, and Stiles groans as he rubs his hands roughly over his face, wincing as he hurts his nose. "Stiles?"

"I'm a crap boyfriend," Stiles tells her, his voice muffled by his hands. "I'm a complete and utter crap boyfriend."

Lydia turns to look at Stiles, raising an eyebrow in question, though he doesn't notice.

"I didn't even _think_ about asking what he's going to college for," Stiles continues without removing his hands from his face. "I haven't even _bothered_ to ask the most basic questions! Here I am, acting like I'm being the understanding and caring boyfriend, and I don't even ask the most _basic_ questions."

"You've only been going out a week," Lydia points out, and Stiles groans again, a long and drawn out groan of self-disgust.

"A whole week, and I don't even _know_ his favourite colour or what he's been studying at college," Stiles continues, spiralling more into a pit of despair under Lydia's unimpressed gaze. "Or what it was like living in New York, or if he's missing his friends, or _anything_."

"You can always just ask, you know?" Lydia reminds him, completely unimpressed with his drama.

“I—yeah, I guess I can. Well, whenever Peter is done with training,” Stiles curls up against Derek’s pillow, sighing as he nuzzled against the fabric and inhaled Derek’s scent.

Lydia rolls her eyes at the boy’s antics. But she also can’t help but feel as if she would do the same if she were in a relationship with Allison—no.

She shakes her head of those thoughts and comes over to check on Stiles again, “I’m going to leave you to get some rest. Hopefully, you don’t drown in your own blood while I’m away.”

Stiles snorts, and then coughs because of the blood, “Ugh, don’t make me laugh it hurts. Anyways, tell Chris to warn the puppies not to freak out if they smell my blood.”

“Like that’s going to do anything, you know it’ll only make them panic even more,” Lydia runs her fingers over Stiles’ buzzcut.

“Mmmm, then I guess I’ll have to deal with overprotective puppies for a while then,” Stiles smiles sleepily.

Lydia snorts as she grabs the bag of peas, absently throwing the blanket over Stiles as he drifts off into a doze.

"You're ridiculous," Lydia says fondly before leaving to put the bag of peas away in the freezer, closing the door behind her softly.

"How is he?" Allison asks her softly, having hovered outside the door.

"He's gone to sleep," Lydia tells her as the both of them walk to the kitchen where Chris is in the middle of making sandwiches. "We should have probably put pillows under him when we couldn't get him down."

Allison grimaces as she nods in agreement, "Probably."

"How about we leave the magical experimentation to when either Peter or me are around?" Chris suggests dryly as he cuts the current sandwich in half, and places them on the plate before grabbing another two slices of bread to put together another sandwich.

"Probably a good idea," Allison agrees as she levers herself up to sit on the counter, picking up a baby tomato and popping it in her mouth. "What's with all sandwiches?"

"I'm hoping to soften the blow of what happened with Stiles with the offering of lots of sandwiches," Chris tells them almost grimly as he butters the two slices of bread.

“Good idea,” Allison opens up the cabinets and scrounges around for the cookie container. “These should help as well.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Chris presses a kiss to his daughters head, and stops before he leaves the room. “Are you handling everything alright? You know, with your mom and moving in here so suddenly.”

Allison gives a one shouldered shrug, “I’m handling this about as well as I can handle it. To be honest, I still am not sure how I’m _supposed_ to be handling this. But I have you and my friends, and two new brothers. So I think...I think I’m doing alright.”

Nodding his head, Chris pulls his daughter into a tight hug, “I just wanted to make sure, sweetie. You know I worry about you a lot.”

“I know, _dad_ ,” she laughs a little, and pushes him a little, “Now off you go, I’m sure the werewolves are starving by now.”

Chris snorts, “Aren’t they always?”

And then takes the platter of food and starts to head back into the safety room where he’s sure the wolves are either still sleeping or wrestling again.

* * *

Chris tightens his hold on the platter handles as he stares at the opened hidden door.

 _This isn't going to go well_ , Chris knows, knowing he probably smells of Stiles' blood despite washing his hands, and steels himself as he heads down the small corridor and into the cement room.

Thankfully, only Peter is awake, and he won't jump to conclusions, or rush off before getting all the facts like Derek and Jackson would.

Peter does stare at him with red-eyes before pulling away from both Derek and Jackson, and Chris _doesn't_ let his gaze drop to a certain area as Peter stands up, and he swallows as Peter shifts back with the sound of breaking bones.

"Why do you smell of Stiles' blood?" Peter asks softly, trying not to disturbing either of his sons, but it's a fool's errand as Derek's entuned to the sound of Stiles' name and he had already been frowning at the smell of Stiles' blood in his sleep.

"Stiles?" Derek asks sleepily, blinking open his eyes, and then he inhales through his nose, and he's suddenly awake. " _Stiles?_ "

Peter puts a hand on Derek’s chest when the wolf snarls, shifting as he jumps up and tries to barge his way over to where Chris is standing.

“Why do you smell of my mate’s blood?” Derek roars, ignoring the red glaring eyes he’s getting from his Alpha.

“ _Explain, Christopher_ ,” Peter demands.

“Stiles is fine. He just had a mishap with his magic practice, and got a bloody nose. We already patched him up and he’s lying in bed with an ice pack. I promise you he’s fine,” Chris tells them both, hoping to calm them down and pushing the platter forward. “Now eat, I brought some food for you all and neither of you can lie and say you aren’t hungry.”

Derek’s about ready to argue, but then Peter is stopping him, “Eat, Pup. And then you can go see your mate.”

Derek gives Peter a betrayed look, but Peter gives him a firm look as he pulls the platter over.

"Eat, Pup," Peter tells him firmly, and Derek grumbles as he grabs a sandwich and eats it quickly. "You'll choke, slow down."

Derek scowls, but eats his second sandwich more slowly as Jackson stirs awake.

"Why are you naked?" Jackson asks thickly as he rubs his eyes, before inhaling and his eyes snap open, and Peter grabs him by the shoulder before his youngest son can do more than sit up. "Why does it smell of Stiles and blood?"

"Eat," Peter says firmly, nudging the platter again. "Stiles is fine, he had a mishap with his magic practice."

Chris gives a sigh of relief that Peter's handling it.

"What type of mishap?" Jackson demands as Peter pushes a sandwich into his hands.

"Just a small one," Chris hedges, not wanting to get into the whole thing that Stiles had been stuck to the ceiling.

Peter gives Chris a look, but doesn't say anything as he grabs his own sandwich while keeping a firm eye on his two sons.

Derek eats three more sandwiches, grabs four cookies, and pushing himself to his feet.

"Derek, Stiles is fine," Chris tells him, hesitating with a hand hovering just over Derek's shoulder. "I promise, he's not that hurt at all."

Derek nods, almost vibrating with tension, and then almost runs down the short corridor, into the study and out into the hallway, heading to their bedroom where he can hear Stiles' slow and steady heartbeat.

* * *

 _Mate. Hurt_ , his wolf roars inside of him and Derek walks, no stalks, into his room.

He freezes when he catches sight of Stiles lying in their bed, peacefully sleeping while curled around Derek’s pillow.

Puffing air out of his nostrils as he tries to keep himself calm, the wolf sets the few cookies he grabbed to the side, before walking around the bed—unsure whether he wants to crawl into bed and kiss his mate awake, or sit at the edge and wait until Stiles tells him it’s okay.

He feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin as he tries to decide. But then he sees Stiles shifting and moving, blinking awake a little and glancing up at Derek.

“Der..?” he sighs, still full of sleep. “Com’er.”

Taking that as an okay, Derek gets up on the bed and curls up against Stiles’, back, wrapping his mate in his arms, and trying to curl his entire body around Stiles’ frame.

Stiles hums as he turns in Derek's arms, nuzzling close before wincing.

"Ow," Stiles frowns as he looks up at Derek with a plaintive look on his face, his nose looking swollen and red, blood crusted around his nostrils and a bandage over the bridge.

Derek cups the side of Stiles' face, pulling the pain automatically, "What happened?"

"I fell," Stiles tells him, eyes fluttering close as he leans into Derek's hand. "Hmm, that feels good."

Derek frowns as he watches the faint tension seep from Stiles' expression.

"Sleep," Stiles says as he cuddles closer to Derek, resting his forehead against Derek's chest. "Sleep."

Derek frowns a bit more, wanting to know more than Stiles' simple explanation of 'I fell', but just tangles his legs with Stiles' and pulls him closer, resting his chin on top of Stiles' head.

Derek slips a hand under Stiles' shirt, spreading it possessively across Stiles' lower back.

"'ve been a bad boyfriend," Stiles slurs against his chest, patting slightly at Derek's side. "Gonna do better."

"What?" Derek asks in disbelief, but Stiles' head drops slightly under his chin as sleep retakes him.

Stiles a bad boyfriend? What? No. _No!_ Stiles was the most wonderful, nicest and most understanding man he’s ever met. How could he say he was a _’bad boyfriend’_?

Nosing at his mate’s hairline, Derek strokes his hand down Stiles’ back and tries to ignore the scent of his mate’s blood in the air.

Stiles sighs sleepily against him and Derek feels his heart swell at how beautiful his mate is in his sleep.

“You’re the greatest boyfriend,” Derek says, even though Stiles is sleeping and won’t hear him.

Derek ends up joining Stiles in sleep after a while, and the two of them curl around one another in their sleep. Derek spooning his mate and rumbling with pleasure as he pets and nuzzles Stiles in his sleep.

He wants to find the person who told Stiles he wasn’t a good boyfriend and rip their throat out.

_With his teeth._

* * *

"Don't even think about it," Peter says without looking up from his book, feeling the weight of his youngest son's displeased glare focused on him.

"But—"

"Derek is more likely to attack and attack to _hurt_ then anything playful right now," Peter cuts off Jackson, explaining once _again_ why Jackson couldn't enter Derek's room and check on Stiles. "His mate is injured and that will have his instincts up, _anything_ his wolf could mistake as an attack will be seen as an attack and dealt with accordingly. I doubt you want to experience the agony of your guts knitting back together so soon."

"I actually think he's needier now," Lydia marvels from next to Allison, her legs curled up under her and a book in her lap.

"To be fair, his best friend just fell from the ceiling," Allison says guiltily, looking at the cookie in her hand and feeling undeserving of it. "He has a right to be worried."

"Stiles is actually a lot sturdier then he looks," Lydia looks somewhat impressed. "To drop from the ceiling onto hard wood floor that is only covered by a rather thing rug, and able to walk away with just a bloody nose? He's lucky."

"Very lucky," Chris mutters from the other couch, still in mild shock that he is in one piece and only had a werewolf roar at him in understandable anger.

"And this is why we keep magical experimentation to when there is adult supervision," Peter tells them dryly, peering over his book and looking at the two girls disapprovingly from his armchair. "I'm glad you are both aware how worse it could have been."

Both girls wince slightly, ducking their heads.

Lydia looks over at Jackson who looks like he’s bouncing right out of his skin, “You’re relatively calm for someone who just became a werewolf. I thought you’d be running out in the woods by now, and howling at the moon.”

Jackson shrugs, “I have a strong anchor. And honestly right now what I really want to do is find Stiles and cuddle him.”

“But you can’t,” Peter corrects.

Jackson growls lowly, and flips back against the couch.

“This is so dumb,” he pouts, “It’s unfair that Derek gets to hog Stiles all the time, he needs to learn to share.”

“Yes, well when you find your mate, you’ll understand how he feels,” Peter pats his son’s knee and leans back to read his book.

Jackson scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, and scowls at the ceiling.

"How do we officially join the Pack?" Lydia asks, closing her book as she looks at Peter.

"Officially?" Peter questions, placing his bookmark and closing his book before looking curiously at both Lydia and Allison as his mate's daughter, his step-daughter in a way, perks up with her own interest. "You are unhappy about being an unofficial member of the Pack?"

"Unofficial makes it seem like I'm not committed to this, to the Pack, to Jackson and Stiles, and the rest of you," Lydia says with a slight frown. "Jackson is my best friend, family in all the ways that matter, and Stiles is a friend, likewise becoming family. I don't turn my back on family," _not like my parents,_ she thinks, "and I _always_ fully commit to everything I do and believe worth it. Jackson? He's worth it. Stiles? He's also worth it. This Pack? Worth it. So yes, I'm not happy with being unofficial."

"And Allison? How do you feel?" Peter asks as he shifts his gaze to the brunette.

"This is my family," Allison says firmly, raising her chin as she stares back at Peter with determination. "I'm fully committed to my family, to _my_ Pack."

 _She could have been our daughter,_ Peter finds himself thinking as he stares at her, the dark curly hair that could be mistakeable as being from him, the dark eyes common in the women of the Hale family.

Allison has Chris' heart, gentle and even mercifully, and not hardened and battered by Gerard's fists and words like Chris' has been, but with an unspeakable will that didn't come from Chris.

Chris, Peter realised long ago, didn't—or at least _hadn't_ —had the will to stand up against his family, had always bowed his head and toed the line despite how it destroyed him and everything he loved.

Allison, however, had taken a stand against her own mother and the bloodstained history of the Argent name, and she hadn't wavered despite the turmoil and pain it must cause her.

“I’m glad,” Peter says after a while, standing up he walks over to where the both of them are sitting and kneels down, holding out his hand to Lydia first and waits until she puts her wrist in his hand. “This may pinch a bit, but not enough to break the skin.”

“I’m ready,” Lydia tells him, her strength burning in her eyes.

“Very well.”

Letting his fangs drop and eyes glow red, Peter places his fangs over her wrist and then bites down gently, waiting a moment until he knows the skin has been marked before pulling off.

After that he turns to Allison and holds his hand out, “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Allison holds her wrist out next without hesitation.

Peter bites down gently on her wrist, waits and then pulls back.

There’s the slightest intention from where his fangs were against her skin, but again it was not hard enough to actually give her the Bite.

“I’m glad to announce that you have both _officially_ joined the Hale Pack.”

"That's it?" Lydia asks, sceptically, and Peter smirks as he mentally plucks at the mental bond that connects him to his two newest Betas.

Piano-wire thin, cold like the first crisp breath of winter, and giving off a feeling off a razor-sharp intelligence that says Lydia, and he watches as her eyes widen before narrowing as she immediately turns her focus inwards.

Steel wrapped in silk, chains coiled tight and strong, unbreakable will the says Allison, and Allison gives a gasp before looking at him with a beaming smile of awe.

"What was _that_?" Allison says as she presses a hand against her chest.

"Our Pack-bond," Peter explains patiently with a small smile. "It's more of a mental and magical bond then a physical one, but it allows me to keep a track of my Betas, able to keep an eye on their mood and know if they are in danger, and all that."

"What else?" Lydia leans forward with interest as Peter stands, and moves over to the couch beside Chris.

“Oh you know, the little stuff.” Peter teases the information, “Just things for the Alpha to know.”

Lydia gives him a cold look, and a raised eyebrow, “I bet I can find out more in those books you gave to Stiles.”

“Oh absolutely. What’s the fun in giving you all the information when you can work for it? Much more satisfying that way,” the Alpha smirks, placing a hand on his mate’s thigh and giving it a squeeze.

“Unbelievable,” Lydia huffs, grabbing three of the books off the stack and settling down next to Allison.

Peter smirks as he leans back against the couch, and he arches a brow at the arousal the briefly spikes the air as Allison leans over Lydia's shoulder and leans against her.

"Huh," Peter says in mild interest while Jackson frowns as he sniffs the air with a curious look.

"Wha—"

Peter casually smacks at Jackson's arm, making Jackson give him an offended look, and Peter gives him an innocent smile.

"We'll be going over what common smells and such you'll encounter over the weekend," Peter informs him as he leans against Chris, stroking his hand against his mate's inner thigh. "We can start with arousal."

"Peter," Chris warns, glancing to where his daughter is happily engrossed in reading over Lydia's shoulder, but he can't help the way his legs fall open slightly.

"Arousal differs slightly from person to person," Peter lectures as his hand keeps moving as Chris' face because slightly flush. "But the basic scent is the same."

"You do realise how weird this is, right?" Jackson asks with a scrunched up nose. "You're _my_ mom, and you're molesting Allison's dad right in front of me."

"Human sensibilities are so _weird_ ," Peter says as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“So, arousal smells...” Jackson takes a sniff. “Warm? And kind of...spicy. Huh, interesting.”

“You’re doing pretty good at this, Jackson,” Peter praises.

“I didn’t become captain of the lacrosse team by sitting around on my ass all day,” Jackson snorts, and then stands up.

“Whatever you’re thinking, _don’t_ ,” Peter warns the teenager, but Jackson simply waved him off.

“Chill, mom. I’m just going to the bathroom for a piss,” Jackson’s heartbeat stays steady, but Peter can’t help but narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“Just remember, I _warned_ you,” Peter settles back against Chris’s side and opens his book again, hoping to get some peace and quiet in while he has a chance.

“Okay, mom!” Jackson calls as he leaves to go to the bathroom.

* * *

Stiles wakes slowly, warm and comfortable, and then the pain hits and he groans.

Derek wakes immediately, cupping his jaw and pulling the pain away before Stiles realises he's awake.

"Hey," Stiles says thickly, leaning into Derek's hand. "That feels good."

"What happened?" Derek asks, thumb rubbing along Stiles' cheekbone.

"I fell," Stiles repeats what he said earlier. "From the ceiling."

"The _ceiling_?" Derek asks in disbelief. "How did you get on the ceiling?"

"Well," Stiles drawls out, blinking as he tries to get his brain into gear. "I was levitating things, and Lydia asked if I could levitate myself."

Derek closes his eyes in disbelief, already seeing where this is going.

"I thought, shit, that's a great idea," Stiles continues, almost nuzzling into Derek's big hand, his big and very warm pain-sucking hand, his big and very good hand.

"Of course you did," Derek says dryly making his mate pout up at him, Derek kissing his forehead briefly. "What happened next?"

"It was going well for a while," Stiles tells him, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to that glorious and wonderful hand. "And then, well, I got stuck."

"You got _stuck_?" Derek repeats in disbelief.

"Yeah, on the ceiling," Stiles nods slightly, "it was fun for like the first five minutes, but then, well, I couldn't get down and the girls couldn't get me down, so yea, I was stuck for like twenty minutes? It got somewhat scary, you know, stuck up there, and then I thought I needed to pee, which only made it worse. Chris came, and he thought I should focus on my anchor? Which, you know, worked so yay, but also boo considering I just fell from the ceiling, and busted my nose."

Derek whines at the thought of his mate getting hurt, and pulls Stiles a little closer against him.

“Anyways, they fixed me up and then I came in here and passed out. I don’t really remember much when I came in here, so hopefully I didn’t say anything stupid,” Stiles shrugs and starts to pluck and smooth out Derek’s shirt. “When did you get in here?”

“Not that long ago, I guess. Depending on how long our nap was,” Derek answers.

He wonders briefly if he should ask why Stiles thought he was a bad boyfriend, but decides to wait because then Stiles is kissing him.

“Oh! How did Jackson’s turning go? I can tell he got a little angry because there are cuts in your shirt,” Stiles pokes his finger through the hole to make a point.

Derek frowns at the mention of his little brother, he doesn’t want to talk about Jackson. Not when they’re in their den and he can cuddle Stiles and kiss him.

“It went fine, the Bite took, and Jackson learned how to control himself after a while. We wrestled for a bit and then took a nap—“

“Puppy pile.”

“It’s not a puppy pile.”

“Two teenage werewolves. Aka, puppies. And an Alpha. It’s a puppy pile.”

Derek growls with no heat making Stiles grin at him.

"Okay, what happened after the puppy pile?" Stiles asks with that cheeky grin.

"Chris came in with food, and he smelled like your blood," Derek says as he strokes Stiles' cheek, unhappy as he takes in the sore Stiles' nose looks.

"And you freaked out," Stiles says as he reaches up to stroke Derek's cheek. "I'm fine."

"You're hurt," Derek corrects, stroking Stiles' cheek. "You were hurt, and I didn't know how bad."

"We're going to remember the pillows and cushions next time," Stiles reassures him, and Derek growls at the thought of Stiles doing _this_ again. "Under strict supervision and all that."

"Better be," Derek grumbles as he drags Stiles closer, carefully nuzzling against his face.

Stiles hums, eyes flutters close, and then he realises something.

"Shit!" Stiles flails and rolls out of Derek's arms, almost going over the side of the bed if Derek's hand didn't grab at the back of his shirt and pull him back. "Thank you!"

"What's wrong?" Derek asks in mild alarm as Stiles sits up and gets up more slowly.

"I forgot to give you your present!" Stiles exclaims with an honest look of panic and regret on his face. "Come on, I have to give it to you and Peter."

Derek allows himself to be tugged off the bed, and he follows Stiles out their den with only a little grumble.

"I can't believe I totally forgot!" Stiles wants to smack himself, more proof that he's a bad boyfriend.

"It's fine," Derek says, rubbing Stiles' knuckles with his thumb as Stiles pulls him into the living room with everyone else.

Peter's hand snaps out and clamps down on Jackson's shoulder, stopping his youngest before he could fully lunge towards Stiles, and trigger Derek's instincts to protect his mate.

"I forgot the gifts!" Stiles announces as he pushes Derek into an armchair. "Just, stay there, okay? I just need to grab them, I left them with our bags."

“Gifts?” Peter turns his head to raise an eyebrow at Derek, to which he shrugs.

“What’s going on?” Lydia asks as she finally looks up from her book.

“Stiles got us presents apparently,” Peter grins as his first Beta walks back into the room carrying a blue and red gift bag.

“Blue for Derek and red for Peter,” he smiles, and then turns to the others, “Sorry I didn’t get you guys anything, this was a bit of a random purchase.”

“How sweet,” Peter grins, and then pulls out the neatly placed gift wrapping paper.

He freezes when he sees the contents inside, and Stiles bites his nails in worry when he sees the two Hale’s both pause.

Peter carefully slips off the red wrapping-paper covering the two sketchbooks and the box of sketch pencils, glancing at the more squishy gift, and carefully setting the sketchbooks and pencils to the side as he unwraps the second gift.

A dark wine red bundle of wool and a cream colour with a small booklet and a crochet hook is revealed.

Peter touches the wool gently, feeling the softness of the wool, and looks up at Stiles.

"So, yeah, I had a research spiral some time ago, and I remember from therapy, like years ago, that creative hobbies are meant to help," Stiles picks at his nails awkwardly, glancing away from the unreadable stare Peter is staring at him with and then to where Derek is carefully unwrapping the clay block. "So, when I was at the mall, I decided to pick up a few things that you could maybe take up as a hobby? They are calming, and all that, and it's important to see progress, especially when you are doing therapy and you don't really think you are progressing at all because it's not like you can actually _see_ anything, right? So, yeah."

Peter glances over at Derek's bundle, lips twitching slightly as he sees that Derek had an addition of clay to his gifts, knitting instead of crocheting and charcoal instead of pencils.

"Did you know I was an artist?" Peter asks curiously, picking up the first sketchbook and flipping it open to the first crisp and clean page, a blank canvas for him to fill, and he can almost feel his fingers twitch. "I was quite successful actually, famous in some circles. There is several murals still around town that I painted."

"Oh," Stiles grimaces slightly as he looks at the rather cheap sketchbooks now he thinks about it. "Then you probably don't want them."

"Don't be silly," Peter chides him with no heat. "Of course I want them," he picks up the slim booklet on crocheting. "I've never tried to crochet before, it'll be interesting to learn."

Stiles smiles slightly, but it falls as he turns to the still quiet Derek.

“Derek?”

“I...” Setting everything to the side, Derek stands up and then pulls Stiles into a hug, squeezing his mate tightly. “Thank you, this—this means everything to me. I can’t believe—this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Stiles startled when he notices Derek is crying, and he brushes the tears away so he can kiss the older man’s lips.

“Why are you crying?” The worry in Stiles’ voice shakes him.

“Because I’m just really happy. This is so— _Stiles_ ,” he kisses his mate, once, twice—clinging to the younger man’s body like it’s his last dying breath. “You’re amazing.”

“All I did was get you some art stuff,” Stiles tries to shrug it off.

“Yeah, but you got it for me.”

There's still something confused in Stiles' expression, and Derek doesn't know how to explain it, how to put it into words.

It's a two-part thing.

Part of it is that Stiles knew about Derek going to therapy, and wanted to help, to give him something that Derek could focus on, could calm himself with, and he knew how important seeing progress of _any_ kind would be to key to Derek.

Derek's going to hate therapy, he knows it.

He's going to hate having to talk about _her_ , in raking up all the old memories, and having to acknowledge it all out loud.

He's going to get frustrated and angry, and he'll want to quit, and Stiles has given him tools for him to calm down with, to focus on something else, to focus on something _good_.

Something he can sit down with, can do quietly, and anywhere, blocking out the world for a while.

The second part....the second part is something he hadn't thought about in _years_.

Stiles hadn't taken one look at him, and decided that Derek isn't arty or wouldn't do art stuff.

Stiles had seen a craft's store, and still thought of _Derek_ , had still gone in and gotten things with _Derek_ in mind.

His—Talia always used to get mad when Derek tried to be 'arty', always said it didn't suit him or something like that, never gave his artwork the same praise she would give Laura and Cora, and it was—it was only _his dad_ that bothered to put the artwork on the fridge with the others.

Talia's lips had always thinned when she saw it, and by the next day, whatever artwork Derek had done and wanted to proudly show off was gone, thrown away most likely.

He has a surprisingly vivid memory of Talia arguing with Peter after his _real_ mom got him a small sketchbook and some coloured pencils for one of Derek's birthdays.

Derek had barely had enough time to marvel at all the pretty colours before Talia had snatched them away, looking furious as she glared at Peter.

Laura ended up with them later if Derek remembers correctly.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Derek says again, choking back the pain of the past.

“You know I’m always thinking about you, big guy,” Stiles pats Derek’s back and enjoys the way Derek nuzzles against his throat.

He’s startled when Peter joins in on the hug, his Alpha nosing at Stiles’ hair and purring.

Pulling away, Peter looks down at the sketchbooks Stiles got them, “This is wonderful. You know, I could teach you a thing or two about drawing if you want Derek.”

“Thanks mom, I’d like that,” Derek smiles, still keeping a loose hold around his mate as he pulls Stiles down to sit on the couch with him.

He purrs and nuzzles against Stiles’ soft skin, petting and stroking all over his mate.

He can’t help it, he’s just so happy right now. So excited and flushed with love.

So, of course that's when Jackson almost leaps over to their couch, and curls around Stiles' back.

Derek growls, pulling Stiles closer, and slipping a hand under Stiles' shirt to spread possessively as Jackson tries to nuzzle at Stiles.

"Oh my god, you are so damn hot now," Stiles says as he deals with two werewolves either side of him.

"I know," Jackson preens smugly, making Derek growl and want to snap his jaws at his brother.

"You know I didn't mean it that way," Stiles protests, Derek pulling him closer and trying to scoot away from Jackson.

"Stop hogging him," Jackson growls back, eyes flashing golden.

"He's my mate," Derek reminds him as Jackson keeps trying to press against Stiles.

"Boys," Peter chides as he reads his booklet. "No fighting, especially over Stiles."

“We can all cuddle. Jeez, you both act like it’s going to be the end of the world,” Stiles rolls his eyes and shifts so he can melt against Derek’s front.

Derek glared at Jackson.

Jackson glares at Derek, and smirks a little as he presses against Stiles’ back, making sure the older teen feels the _real_ heat of his body.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Stiles rolls his eyes.

Chuckling, Peter glances at the sketchbook and immediately flips it open, running his fingers down the page and then pulling open the sketching pencils.

He takes up inspiration from the art before him and starts to sketch out the two wolves cuddling the human.

It’s quite adorable, in his opinion.

He frowns at how rusty he is with his pencil, and looks up when Chris gives his thigh a squeeze.

“Still as good as you were before,” Chris tells him.

“You’re only saying that because I used to sketch nude drawings of you,” Peter smirks and then steals a kiss from the flustered man.

"Not just that," Chris says with that flustered look on his face that Peter has always found so endearing.

Chris had always been easy to fluster, to reduce to a tongue-tied state, and Peter had delighted in causing it in the past. Though he had also enjoyed when Chris had been able to keep his confidence and became the seducer instead of the seducee.

"Really?" Peter asks doubtfully, and Chris' face goes serious, soft and almost regretful.

"I used to always visit the galleries nearby if I was on a Hunt and they had your paintings," Chris admits, gaze dropping to the sketchpad, and the barebones Peter got done. "I always felt like I could stand there for hours, and just look at them. I was tempted to buy one of them so many times, but I knew Victoria would only destroy them if I did."

"You...." Peter doesn't know what to say.

Chris squeezes his thigh, "Wait, okay?"

Peter frowns as Chris stands and leaves the room with quick strides, and he busies himself in adding some detail to the picture, starting to turn them from three cuddling figures to Jackson, Stiles and Derek.

"Here," Chris' return breaks him from his focus, and he looks up as Chris sits down with a metal-box in his hands.

"And what is that meant to be?" Peter asks as he eyes the faded orange lock-box, and Chris gives a brief and somewhat tense smile before he opens it up. "What...."

Neatly folded and jammed together are programmes, programmes of galleries that displayed his work in the past, he notes as he takes in the colourful and glossy printed programmes that had been folded repeatedly until they stayed flat and tight against each other.

And there is a small paperclipped pile of newspaper clippings tucked beside them, all featuring Peter and his art, Peter realises as he gingerly picks up the clippings like they are fragile or are about to turn to dust in his hands.

"I told you," Chris says quietly, "I never forgot about you."

Peter picks up the newspaper clippings and frowns when he sees there’s even more hidden away in the box.

Photographs.

Pictures of when they were younger and together.

Pictures of their time in the hotel room— _their_ hotel room.

Some are a little more lewd than others; like the bottom one that showcases a teenage Peter lounging on the immaculate penthouse bed, naked but for a set of pearl necklaces wrapped around his throat and dipping down into his chest.

He remembers that night clearly.

It was a night when they both wanted something slow and sweet, and Peter—fuck, Peter had just wanted to look _pretty_ for his mate.

He remembers how breathless Chris was when he saw him, entering the room and suddenly it was like the whole place smelled of the hunter’s arousal.

Flipping through the photos, Peter bites his bottom lip when he sees some that are softer.

Ones when Peter was still happy and a few where he wore his favorite sweater—a dark brown with soft lines in it and pumpkins knitted into the design.

It was how Chris came up with the nickname, _pumpkin_ , at first Peter hated it, and then slowly he started to love the nickname, hell he even craved it.

"You ridiculous sappy old man," Peter murmurs as he pauses on a photo of them together:

Peter leaning back against Chris' chest with one of Chris' strong arms wrapped around his waist, his face turned to press a kiss to Chris' cheek, and just wearing his boxers and what he believes was Chris' shirt half-buttoned.

Chris' expression is soft, loving, and his other hand holds the camera directed into the large mirror—one of the reasons Peter picked that room in the first place—and how they were able to take 'couple' shots in the safety of their hotel room, and it's impossible to tell if he was dressed at all with how Peter covered his front completely with his body.

"For you?" Chris leans against him, a line of heat that Peter _missed_ so much for so _long_ , an arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him even closer. "Always."

Peter collects the photos together, putting them back in a neat pile, and of course, of course, Chris had tucked more away in his secret box.

Peter doesn't have to unfold the bundle of folded pieces of paper, he just _knows_ what they are.

Chris' favourites of Peter's drawings of him, of them together.

Chris always looked at them so eagerly, ready to praise them and ignoring everything Peter had been dissatisfied with.

When it came to Chris' favourite drawings, Chris would carefully remove the page from Peter's sketchbook and just as carefully fold them to tuck away in his wallet or his pocket.

Peter didn't think Chris would have kept them _this_ long, but it seems he had been wrong.

Peter carefully puts everything back—the photos, the clippings, the programmes—and closes the box before setting it on the floor in silence.

"Peter?" there's something almost nervous in Chris' voice, and Peter _moves_ until he's straddling Chris' lap and his arms are draped around his mate's shoulders.

"You complete and utterly ridiculous man," Peter tells him before kissing him.

“Uh—should we be concerned?” Stiles asks as he watches Peter practically _ravage_ the older man beneath him.

Derek is almost tempted to throw a pillow at the two older men, but if he moves his arms then Jackson might come in and steal Stiles from him. Although it is a little awkward watching his mom make out.

“My sappy old man,” Peter whispers against Chris’s lips, kissing and stroking up and down the man’s sides, while Chris holds him.

“Maybe we should move this to our bedroom, pumpkin,” Chris strokes a thumb under Peter’s shirt, tickling the man’s skin with his soft, gentle strokes.

“I suppose so.”

Peter stands up, and then a look crosses over his face quickly as he thinks about something. Smirking, he ducks down and then picks Chris up like he weighs less than a sack of potatoes.

* * *

Carrying the man in a fireman hold, Peter swiftly moves to where the master bedroom is and tosses his lover onto the bed.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you, Christopher?” Peter stalks the side of the bed, like a wolf on the prowl.

"N-no," Chris answers, lying back on the bed almost exactly like how Peter tossed him there, and only moving to spread his legs as he watches Peter with dark eyes.

"I'm going to _ravage_ you," Peter growls, a sound that makes Chris shudder and his arousal to deepen. "I'm going to keep you in this bed until _I_ am done with you, I'm going to make you cum until you _can't_ anymore. And if you are good for me? I may fuck you like you begged me to."

Chris groans, throwing his head back against the pillows, and Peter smirks as he crawls onto the bed, and moves to straddle Chris, pressing his ass against Chris' trapped and hard cock.

"Are you going to be good for me?" Peter asks as he lets his claws grow and drags them carefully against Chris' t-shirt, letting him feel the drag of the claws without tearing his shirt—at least not yet.

"Yes," Chris' hands come up and grab Peter's hips, and Peter smirks as he feels the tiny rocking motion of Chris' hips as if the older man can't help himself.

"Then remember these rules," Peter leans down so his lips are hovering over Chris', barely any room between. "Rule one, you aren't allowed to touch yourself, only I can touch you. Rule two, you can only cum when I tell you to, and not before. Simple, isn't it? Just two rules?"

Chris licks his lips, his tongue brushing against Peter's lips, and almost making the wolf give in and kiss his hunter.

"And if I break the rules?" Chris asks, his voice rough and low, and Peter smirks wickedly as he moves to whisper hotly in Chris' ear.

"Then I _punish_ you."

Chris nods his head, “I can handle that.”

The Alpha smirks, “We’ll see about that.”

The first thing he does is strip Chris of his clothes, one by one, each item of clothing is throwing off of him and discarded.

The Hunter shivers at the cool air against his skin, and arches off the bed when Peter runs _clawed_ fingers down his chest.

“Mmm, beautiful,” the wolf hum, leaning down to kiss Chris’s chest, nosing at the course hair on the man’s skin.

“Peter,” Chris shakes.

“Shh, I’m going to take good care of you, Christopher,” Peter sits back and grabs Chris’s hips, flipping him over so his ass is up. “I think I’m going to eat you out first.”

“Oh fuck,” Chris shakes at those words.

"Remember the rules," Peter says as he spreads Chris' cheeks until that pink pucker is exposed.

Chris shudders, biting at his lower lip as he fists at the covers under him, and he jumps as Peter blows gently against his hole, the cold air making him clench and shiver.

Peter smirks before pressing a kiss directly over the pucker and hears Chris gasp.

"I can already smell how wet you are, and I've barely touched you," Peter chuckles darkly, and then he licks from Chris' balls up to his hole making Chris moan loudly.

Peter wants to chuckle darkly, but he's rather busy at the moment, circling his tongue around Chris' hole before lapping at it.

Chris moans, his hips moving to push his ass against Peter's face, and Peter remembers how _wild_ and vocal this always made Chris.

Peter had been the one to educate Chris in sex, in learning what he liked and didn't like, and it still makes him want to preen to know he was the first to _ever_ touch Chris in a sexual manner.

Peter begins to spear the tip into Chris' hole, getting him to open for Peter's tongue, and let him really taste him.

" _Peter_ ," Chris groans, dropping his head down as he shudders, and Peter drags his claws lightly down one of Chris' asscheeks. " _Please_."

There's always a heady sense of power that fills Peter whenever he gets Chris like this, begging and pleading for more of _his_ touch, shuddering and moaning for _him_ , and _nothing_ like the collected and confidence deadly Argent hunter he's meant to be.

Peter could never _truly_ deny his mate anything he wanted, so he broadens his licks, pushing more of his tongue in Chris, and pulls back briefly to suck on one of his fingers, so he can add a finger alongside his tongue.

Chris groans loudly as he feels the stretch of a finger alongside Peter's _sinful_ tongue, almost whimpering at the pleasurable burn as he's stretched open slightly.

It's been _years_ since Peter's touched him there, since _anyone_ had touched him there.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Chris bits out as those long fingers immediately seek out his prostate.

Peter strokes against that spot inside of him, and then presses down against it until the older man is groaning. He grips the sheets with white knuckles and spreads his legs further apart, desperately wanting more of that sweet touch.

“ _Peter_.”

“Remember when we first did this together?” Peter kisses against Chris’s ass, “You were so loud, I thought room service was going to come knocking. I knew you liked to too, not that I cared whether I was on the bottom or top. But you always preferred to be in control. Except when I did this.”

He makes a point by licking up Chris’s balls again, and the man shakes under him.

“I ate you out until you were a mewling like a wet bitch,” sharp teeth scrap against his skin, and Chris _pushes_ into it. “And when I thought you were finished, you asked for _more_. So fucking desperate to get my tongue in your ass.”

“ _Yes!_ ” he yells sharply when another finger is added.

Peter smirks against his ass before going back to licking into him, fucking his tongue in and out as he keeps his fingers curled and pressing against Chris' prostate.

He wants to reduce Chris to mewling _bitch_ , he wants Chris to _beg_ for his cock in him.

" _Peter_ ," Chris almost whines, rocking back as his knuckles to white as he grips the covers harder.

Peter is _ruthless_ as he fucks Chris with his tongue, and keeps pressing his fingers firmly against his prostate, and it really doesn't tell long to reduce Chris into wordless moans, groans and random calls of Peter's name.

" _Peter_ ," Chris whines now, feeling his balls tighten as the need to cum gets greater. "I-I'm gonna—"

Chris gives a whine of protest as Peter pulls away fully, and then his hand is gripping the base of Chris' cock and stopping his orgasm before it can really begin.

"Good mate," Peter presses his clothed body against Chris' naked one, Chris groaning as he rubs his ass against the rough material of Peter's jeans as Peter drags his teeth against the shell of Chris' ear. "You did well in telling me."

Chris whimpers at Peter's words, the words going straight through him and warming him.

"Now, what should I do?" Peter asks as he nips at Chris' ear. "I bet you want me to fuck you now, push you down and fuck you."

Chris moans in agreement, pressing his ass more firmly back.

"Hmm, but I'm not done with you _yet_ ," Peter tells him as he lowers his mouth to nip at Chris' neck. "I think I want your mouth around my cock, want you on your knees and worshipping it."

“Please. Anything, Peter, anything you want,” Chris begs, and Peter soaks it up.

Peter runs his hand down the side of Chris’s face, “Beautiful,” he murmurs, “I know you’re gonna look so beautiful on your knees, love.”

Chris nods his head, getting up on shaky hands as he pushes himself off the bed and gets down between Peter’s legs.

The wolf rumbles at the sight of his mate kneeling between his legs, and Chris shivers when he sees those glowing red eyes staring down at him.

He was used to Peter’s eyes glowing blue, but red? The _red_?

It make something grow hot in the pit of his stomach, and it made him want to bend over for the younger man.

Unzipping his pants, Peter pulls down his boxers until his cock is out for Chris to suck, “No hands.”

Chris nods his head, moving forward on his knees before pressing a kiss to the inside of Peter’s thighs.

“Quit teasing.”

Chris places one kiss on the tip of Peter's cock before taking the head in his mouth, he presses the flat of his tongue against Peter's cock before curling it around it, pulling back to dip his tongue into Peter's slit.

Peter gives a hum of approval before using his hand to guide his cock, so he can drag the head of his cock against Chris' bottom lip, and Chris opens his mouth, so Peter feeds his cock back into his mouth.

"Suck me," Peter orders, almost breathlessly, and cups the back of Chris' head.

He doesn't force Chris down, just rests it there as Chris bobs his head up and down, taking more of Peter's cock in with each bob and his cheeks hallowing as he sucks.

Peter groans as Chris sucks and swallows around his cock, his arms crossed behind his back and hands holding the other wrist, so he's not tempted to touch.

" _Fuck_ ," Peter lets out as he tangles his hand in Chris' hair, Chris' tongue pressing and curling around his cock.

He leans back on his free hand, widening the spread of his legs, and watches with red-eyes as Chris eagerly bobs his head and sucks his cock.

"You're doing good," Peter groans, resisting the urge to guide Chris, to make him take _all_ of Peter's cock down his throat. "So good at this, Christopher."

Chris groans, clenching as some precum drips down his hard cock, as the praise warms him inside and out.

“Have you been practicing?” Peter teases, running his fingers through Chris’s hair.

Chris shakes his head, pulling off so he can say hoarsely, “Only with a dildo. You’re the only man I could ever love, the only person I love.”

Peter feels something dark and possessive curl in his stomach.

He hums, and pets Chris’s face, loving the way the older man curls into the touch.

It’s almost a juxtaposition of how in their earlier years when it was Peter kneeling between Chris’s legs, and sucking the man’s cock.

But now, it’s completely different.

"Never tempted to go after someone else? Not even for a single night?" Peter asks curiously, stroking Chris' cheek.

Peter had only ever truly loved Chris because Chris would always be his mate, would always have a hold on his heart, and _no one_ could replace him or compete with him.

But after Victoria confronted him, well, Peter had a relationship with Maggie.

She had been sweet, gentle, and so _kind_ , and it had been a balm to his broken heart, gave him an escape from Robert, from watching Talia making a point to mother _his_ son in front of him.

And then she had fallen pregnant, had fallen pregnant with _his_ pup, and Peter still doesn't know why he had gone to Talia, why he thought that _this_ time would be different, why he thought she'd let him go and have _his_ pup.

(He thought that's what she wanted, she wanted him gone, and yet she took Maggie away, took the knowledge of _his_ pup away, and kept him there, kept him there for Robert to _rape_.)

After that came Corrine, fierce and wild Corrine.

Looking back with fresh eyes, Peter could see it was broadline abusive.

But it had been what Peter _needed_ in that moment, it made him feel _something_ when he felt so numb, even if it was discomfort for how much she reminded him of Robert.

After Corrine, after Talia took those memories despite the fact he hadn't even _known_ Corrine had been pregnant, well, Peter drowned himself in alcohol and anyone willing to share his bed, anyone that could make him forget for a briefest moment the agony that he had to deal without his mate.

"Only ever wanted _you_ ," Chris tells him honestly, and then he's leaning down to swallow Peter down completely, and making Peter arch with a groan.

 _"Fuck,"_ Peter thrusts up slightly, Chris choking slightly, but stubbornly refusing to pull off completely, and Peter groans as Chris bobs his head and sucks his cock. " _Christopher_."

His mate. Chris was _his_ and he’d fight tooth and nail with anyone who ever tried to take his mate away from him. _Again._

“Stop,” Peter pulls him off, a little more harsher than he intended to.

Bringing Chris up so he’s standing, Peter twist around so he can push Chris back down on the bed, stopping him from turning over onto his stomach so he can stare down at his handsome mate while he settles between his legs.

“Mine,” Peter growls, popping open the bottle of lube and slicking himself up.

“Yes,” Chris agrees with a hiss, pulling his legs up so Peter can fuck him.

“ _Mine_ ,” Peter snarls, pushing Chris’s legs back and pressing the head of his cock inside until it enters with a wet pop. “You’re mine, Christopher. My mate, mine.”

Chris groans as he drops his head back, feeling the burn of Peter's cock stretching him open.

He hadn't been stretched open fully, but it didn't matter to Chris, not really, because the burn of the stretch just added to the pleasure as Peter sinks into him, inch by slow inch, until he's fully seated in him.

"I'm yours," Chris tells him, breathlessly, and clings to Peter's shirt, knowing he's probably going to pull it all out of shape, but not caring.

Peter snarls, red-eyes staring him down and a hint of fang visible, and he pulls back until only his head is keeping Chris' hole open before he _fucks_ back in, and Chris' back arches as he cries out loudly.

Peter keeps one of Chris' legs hooked over his elbow while letting the other wrap around his waist, and Chris hasn't had to hold this position in years, there's a burn to his muscles already, but Chris doesn't care, _can't_ care about anything that isn't Peter's cock moving in him, one of Peter's clawed hands gripping one of his asscheeks as Peter _fucks_.

Chris bundles part of Peter's shirt up with his fist while his other hand tangles in Peter's long hair—long enough to show his curls—and drags his mate into a kiss.

It's brutal, a clash of lips and a bite of fangs against his lips as Peter's hips snap and snap, fucking him hard and fast, but it still makes him groan into the kiss, it still makes him crave more because it's _Peter_.

It's _his_ Peter, his Pumpkin, his lover, and Chris can _touch_ him, he can _taste_ him, he can _feel_ Peter in him, he can feel that _heat_ unique to werewolves, and he _knows_ , he knows utterly and completely that Peter isn't going to just disappear him, that it'll be _him_ still if Chris falls asleep and wakes up later, that it'll always be _Peter_ because this is _real_.

This is _real_ , it's not a drug induced dream, it's P _eter_ , and Chris can _finally_ have him forever, not just in hidden and stolen moments, but out in the open and _public_.

" _Peter_ ," he groans.

Peter gasps, and groans under his breath as he keeps a bruising grip on Chris’s skin, squeezing and growling as he bites and kisses that tan skin.

He wants to brand Chris’s skin with his marks, wants them to show _everyone_ who this man belongs to.

Peter was sick and tired of people taking away the things he loved, tired of taking the shit thrown at him and the way he just _never fought back_.

Peter wasn’t going to lie down anymore, wasn’t going to roll over and let them _fuck_ him anymore. This time he’s going to take the snake by the head and break its neck.

“ **Mine** ,” he pants heavily, gripping Chris harder as he fucks him.

The Alpha feels the shift take over, and he tries to hide that disgusting burnt side of his face, but then rough hands are cupping his face and turning his head back.

“Don’t hide. I want to see you. _All of you_.”

Peter groans, fucking harder, and he keeps eye contact with Chris as the Beta shift settles across his features, and he knows that the right side of his face, twisted with burn scars, darken and blacken as if they are remembering the poison of wolf's bane coating them.

Chris doesn't look away, doesn't flinch or cringe, and his expression doesn't shift or shutter, no, he keeps staring up into the eyes of the predator, eyes dark and pupils blown wide with lust and desire, and those rough hands are pulling him close, so Chris can place kisses over his face, lingering over his burn scars.

"I love you," Chris tells him, groaning as he clenches around Peter's cock. "I love _all_ of you, every bit of you, I love and want it _all_."

Peter whines, resting his brow against Chris, and he fucks as he feels his knot begin to swell.

Chris cries out, dropping his head back and exposing his throat to Peter to _ravage_ with his mouth and fangs, as he feels Peter's knot swelling in him, stretching him further and rubbing against his prostate before catching on his rim.

He can't believe he almost forgot how it feels, how it feels to have Peter fuck him and then _knot_ him, he can't believe he didn't have _this_ for over seventeen years.

Peter's knot swells quickly, eagerly, and soon locks them together, reducing Peter to more rocking thrusts and grinding his knot against Chris' prostate.

" _Fuck_ ," Chris cries out, clawing with useless and blunt human nails at Peter's shirt-clad back. "I-I'm gonna—"

" _Cum_ ," Peter snarls the order against Chris' throat before biting down on the still new mating-mark, and Chris shouts wordlessly as he does.

Chris' arches under him, pressing firmly against him, his toes curling as he clenches down on Peter's knot, and he _cums_ with Peter's fangs buried into his mating-mark and Peter's knot stretching him wide.

Peter rumbles, and gives a few stuttered thrusts before stilling as he cums in Chris, feeling Chris spasm around his knot.

Both of them pant heavily against one another, Chris feeling fucked out and like he’s toeing the edge of sleep and pleasure.

He makes a soft noise and kisses against Peter’s healing skin, wanting the Alpha werewolf to know Chris loves _every_ part of him, wants to cherish and lavish the man in his arms.

The wolf gives a little whine, and collapses on top of Chris. His knot is still inflated and hard, it causes them both slight discomfort and pleasure on end.

Kissing at Chris’s shoulder, Peter wraps his arms around the man before turning them over so they’re on their sides. He sighs at the alleviated pressure on his dick and cuddles closer.

“I’m already tired, and we only fucked once,” Chris grumbles, stroking over the V on Peter’s hip.

The werewolf snorts, “We did fuck earlier today. What was it twice? Or three times?”

“Three. I’m pretty sure it was three, especially when you did that thing with your tongue,” Chris corrects.

“Oh, you mean when I—“

“Yes,” he groans when Peter jerks his hips forward.

"Fuck," Peter groans slightly as Chris clenches down, pressing his forehead against Chris' shoulder. "I forgot what it's like to knot."

It seems ridiculous to say out loud, but it's the truth.

Knotting is something special, something a werewolf only did with someone the truly trusted and cared about and/or their mate.

Peter's only ever experienced actually knotting someone with Chris, and his other experience? It was with being knotted, and...

Peter cringes away from the direction those thought head in, keeping his mind in the here and now, to the feel of Chris' arms around him, the feel of being _in_ Chris.

"We've left the kids alone again," Chris muses, pressing his lips to Peter's head.

Peter snorts against Chris' skin, "You are the one who is all prudish about having sex out in the open, though Derek's being surprisingly awkward."

"I'm not having sex in front of _my daughter_ ," Chris stresses once again, shivering slightly as the air makes his sweaty skin feel cold.

"I have two sons out there, and I don't have a problem with it," Peter reminds him, reluctantly moving the both of them somewhat awkwardly, his knot tugging on Chris' rim and making the older man hiss and clench down, until he finally gets the covers half-heartily thrown over them.

"A little warning would have been nice," Chris tells him, gasping as Peter presses closer to him in a way that presses his cock a bit further in him, and makes the knot rub over Chris' prostate that in a way that makes him clench down.

"Fuck," Peter nips at Chris' shoulder, one hand sliding down to possessively cup Chris' ass. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to fuck you until you're unconscious."

Chris' eyes flutter as he groans, trying not to clench down, and he feels Peter's smirk against his shoulder.

"Ass," Chris grumbles, tightening his grip around Peter's waist, and Peter hums against his skin and squeezes his ass.

"Yes, it is a very nice ass," Peter tells him teasingly making Chris snort.

Chris winces a little when Peter moves again.

“Fuck, I forgot how big your knot was,” he grumbles, trying not to let Peter rub against his prostate, even though he’s pretty sure the younger man gets pleasure out of it.

“I’m pretty sure it’s gotten bigger after I became Alpha,” Peter smirks, “In fact, I think quite a few things have gotten _bigger_ since I became Alpha.”

“I’ll say,” Chris groans, and flexes his muscles while getting comfortable.

“Don’t sleep now. We have _years_ of makeup sex we need to catch up on,” Peter smirks.

"Really? I'm not as young as I used to be, and I can't just keep coming like a twenty-year-old," Chris complains as Peter lifts one of Chris' legs to curl slightly around his waist.

" _You_ may not be able to, but I still have a _lot_ of cum in me that needs to be in your ass," Peter tells him simply, and Chris groans as the younger man begins to work his hips.

" _Peter_ ," Chris groans as he grabs fistfuls of Peter's shirt, whimpering slightly as Peter's knot works over his sensitive prostate, and working him into the oversensitive range.

"I missed you, I missed _this_ ," Peter groans, pressing his forehead against Chris' shoulder, and gripping Chris' ass as he fucks into Chris. "Missed you so much, couldn't get you _out_ my head."

Chris groans as he clenches down, and Peter almost whines as his thrusts shutter slightly.

"Miss you too, missed you _so_ much," Chris bares his neck for Peter to kiss and nip at. "Should have stayed, should have taken you and ran, should have _known_ better."

"Love you," Peter confesses, sounding almost pained to admit it, pressing kissing against Chris' neck. "Love you _so_ much."

It _hurts_ as much as it's comforting to admit that he loves Chris, that he loves him so much, but Peter can't keep the words in, can't stop them coming despite his earlier words and thoughts about not being able to say them so soon.

But Peter can't deny that the words are true, that he _loves_ Chris, and while part of him is still afraid—afraid that Chris will realise this is a mistake and leave him, afraid that his father will come and Chris will bow his head _again_ , will leave _again_ , afraid that Chris will realise how broken Peter is and realise he can't cope—he knows he can't keep these words to himself.

Chris gives something close to a strangled sob, pressing his lips against the side of Peter's head, and clutching him close.

"I love you, _I love you_ , I love you," Chris chants, overwhelmed by Peter saying that he _loves_ him.

Peter presses kisses over Chris’s lips, face—and just everywhere he can reach—and the man soaks the affection up like a starved sailor, who’s been lost at sea for years.

“My handsome mate,” Peter pants, “I can’t believe I finally have you back in my life. God, I never want to let you go.”

“And you won’t. Because I don’t plan on ever leaving you,” Chris takes Peter’s hand and turns it over to press a kiss to the palm.

They settle on the bed in silence, Peter shifting every once in a while as he adjusts to the pressure on his knot.

Chris winces once in a while when his oversensitive prostate is pressed up against. As a way of distracting the older man, Peter presses kisses to Chris’s skin, Soft, gentle, warm kisses.

“How long did you say it took until your knot went down?”

“Thirty minutes. Sometimes longer,” Peter smirks when he hears Chris let out a slow sigh.

“Jesus.”

"Don't worry, I won’t move and make it last longer," Peter reassures him, pressing another kiss to Chris' shoulder, running a hand down Chris' side.

"How merciful of you," Chris snorts as he reaches up to play with Peter's long hair. "Thank you."

"For what?" Peter asks, brushing more kisses against Chris' shoulder and neck. "Fucking you? If so, you are very welcome and I'm happy to do this anytime you want."

Chris snorts, tugging on Peter's hair, "No, you idiot."

Peter makes a fake wounded sound, looking up at Chris with a pout, and Chris cups his jaw.

"Thank you for still loving me, thank you for saying it," Chris tells him, pressing a gentle kiss to Peter's lips.

Peter ducks his head slightly, a flush appearing to Chris' amusement.

"You're ridiculous, you know that, right?" Peter questions him, shaking his head in disbelief. "So damn ridiculous."

"Always ridiculous for you," Chris says with a hint of a smile, tugging Peter back up to kiss. "I love you."

Peter closes his eyes, resting his brow against Chris', "Love you."

It still hurts to say, to admit, and it still scares him, but he feels this need to say the words, to tell him in those simple words that yes, Peter loves him.

The joy the infuses Chris' scent helps relieve the fear and hurt curling in his chest, and Peter can't help the way he moves to tuck his nose against Chris' throat, or the way he takes deep and greedy breaths of the joy infused satisfied mate scent.

"We should probably only let you fuck me when the kids are out or at school," Chris muses as he runs his fingers through Peter's hair.

"You being such a responsible parent makes me want to fuck you again," Peter mutters against his throat, though he doesn't move his hips, and Chris snorts.

"I'm not being responsible," Chris tells him, playing with his curls. "I would just like to enjoy having your knot in me without feeling guilty that I'm leaving the kids alone, and free of any judgement when we finally leave the bed."

Peter smirks, and pats Chris on his thigh, “I’ll make a dirty man out of you one day.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hmmm, think about it. I could even get you a collar and a leash. I just wanna keep you locked up in our den, like a little house husband. I’d keep you naked all day, and fuck you whenever I feel like it.”

Chris whimpers at the _vivid_ imagery of what exactly Peter has in plan.

“You’re getting hard again. You like the thought of it, don’t you?” Peter grins, reaching between them both to stroke Chris’s cock.

“Peter. Fuck, I don’t know if I can—“

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. We can stop,” he pets Chris’s cheek and gives him a kiss.

Chris sighs and relaxes back down, grunting when he feels Peter’s knot go down until cum can leak out of his ass.

“I don’t want to be stuck home,” Chris mumbles.

“Hm?”

“I do like the idea of staying home with you all day, but doing _nothing_? I don’t know if I could do that, I still—I don’t want to hunt but I want to still be able to protect people,” Chris explains.

Peter hums thoughtfully as he strokes Chris' cheek, "You could join the Sheriff's department, protect people legally."

"You really think Noah would accept me?" Chris asks doubtfully, and Peter rolls his eyes at his mate.

"Of course he will," Peter presses a kiss to Chris' lips. "You'll be helping him a lot with the more supernatural cases, and it would be good for Noah to have two Deputies that know the truth about Beacon Hills, and to have a Deputy with experience in dealing with such things? Priceless."

"My experience is in killing things, not arresting people," Chris points out ruefully, and Peter presses another kiss to his lips before shaking his head.

"You know to track them, to trap them, and you know how to explain them away," Peter reminds him. "Everything else? You can learn, there's training courses for a reason, Christopher. Just don't go crazy with your hours, I still want to see you."

"I won't," Chris promises as he cuddles close against Peter. "You think I would be good at it? Being a Deputy?"

The only reason Peter doesn't call Chris an idiot or something like that is due to the real insecurity he can sense and scent coming off the older man, and Peter pulls him closer, tucking the man's head under his chin, and stroking his back.

"You'll be _amazing_ at it, love," Peter reassures him, feeling Chris kiss the hollow of his throat.

Chris smiles against Peter's skin, not yet wanting to move, and he gives a slightly whimpery moan as Peter's hand slips down to his ass, and his fingers dip into his loose and leaking hole.

"I should have prepared you more," Peter says with some guilt, pulling some of the pain of being fucked so hard with so little preparation.

"It felt good," Chris reassures him, relaxing with a groan as Peter pulls the aches from the rest of his body. "I liked it."

Peter bites at the inside of his cheek, not wanting to say that he feels a bit like Robert for just fucking Chris without preparing him properly.

Chris lazily cups Peter’s face to kiss the man, “We need to shower before we join the others.”

“Or I could just eat you out,” Peter tries, but gets a glare in response. “Shower sounds fine.”

“Glad you’re seeing my way,” Chris grins, rolling off the bed and cringing when he feels cum dripping between his legs.

Peter watches from behind at the beautiful sight his mate makes with cum between his legs, naked and bare, getting off the bed, Peter stalks after his mate into the bathroom.

He wonders briefly if the pups are behaving themselves, and when he doesn’t feel anything bad happening in the Pack bond, he continues forward with taking a shower.

* * *

Derek purrs as he feels Stiles stroke a hand against his stomach, soft little pets that have his wolf stretching under Stiles’ hand.

“How do you like the movie so far?” Stiles asks his mate.

"Hmm, fine," Derek says absently, leaning back and letting Stiles have more area to stroke, his eyes feeling half-lidded as Stiles continues to stroke his stomach.

"He's not even watching it," Jackson says with a scoff, and Derek glares at his brother and doesn't hold back in kicking him now. " _Ouch!_ You fucker."

"I barely touched you," Derek scoffs, and Jackson scowls as he kicks back making Derek snarl at him.

"No!" Stiles says sternly, bopping Derek on the nose before turning to where Jackson had stretched out against the other side of the couch, and bopping him on the nose too. "Fragile human here, I will not be in the middle of your weird werewolf brotherhood bonding shit."

"Bonding?" Jackson splutters, looking outraged, and Derek wraps his arms around Stiles' waist to pull him back against his chest. "He _kicked_ me."

"I wouldn't have kicked you if you hadn't been such a tattle-tell," Derek counters grumpily, resting his chin on Stiles' shoulder.

"I wouldn't have anything to tattle about if you were actually watching the movie," Jackson protests.

"I have been watching it," Derek growls as Stiles almost pinches his nose before he remembers busting earlier, the blood and the _pain_ , and moves his hand to rub at his temple instead.

"Oh yeah?" Jackson challenges with his arms crossed and a scowl. "What does Janis call Cady then?"

Derek blanks and glances at the screen as if Janis would enlighten him herself.

"I _told_ you," Jackson says triumphantly. "You haven't been watching at all!"

"Shush," Allison hisses at them, offering Lydia the bowl of popcorn. "Some of us _are_ watching it."

"God, I hope me, and Jordan are nothing like you two when we get some brotherly bonding time," Stiles mutters mostly to himself, forgetting for a moment that Jackson now has werewolf sense.

"Who the _fuck_ is Jordan and what do you mean by 'brotherly bonding time'?" Jackson asks loudly, and Lydia pauses the movie as curious eyes turn to Stiles.

“Huh? Oh shoot! I remember what I was going to talk about earlier!” Stiles pushes Jackson off to sit up, “Guys, you’ll never believe it, but I have an older brother!”

_“What!”_

Stiles nods his head, grinning proudly, “Derek’s already met him. Jordan Parrish is so cool, he was in the army and is going to be a deputy. Also I’m pretty sure he’s a supernatural creature.”

Jackson taps on his chin, “Do you think his dick is as big as yours? Or bigger?”

Stiles gawks at that, “Oh my god, don’t even get any ideas about trying to seduce him. He’s like _way_ too old for you.”

Jackson leans back against the couch cushion to give Stiles a leer, “Don’t worry, Stiles. You’re the only Stilinski meat I want in my ass.”

“Aaaand that’s the end of that conversation, because nope, nope. Nada. No,” Stiles goes to cover his ears, like what a child does when they say they aren’t listening.

Jackson lunges forward to grab his wrists and smirks in his face, "You know what I just remembered? I didn't finish my list the other day."

"No, _no_ , stop it with my dick already!" Stiles tells him, knowing better to test his strength against a werewolf's. "Why are you so obsessed with my dick anyway?"

"Because he's had a crush on you for _years_ ," Lydia sighs, unable to believe she had to spell it out for her intellectual rival at school. "Because every time I fuck him, he thinks of you and cries out your name. Because he dreams about you fucking him into a sobbing mess, making him cum over and _over_ until he can't anymore, filling him with cum and not letting him clean up, so he has to go through the whole day knowing that it's _your_ cum leaking from his ass."

"Lydia!" Jackson drops Stiles' wrists and actually blushes as he stares at his girlfriend. _"You read my fantasies!"_

Lydia rolls her eyes before giving Jackson a look, "Of course I read them. Despite not understanding the appeal as I'm not into dick, they were very well written and enjoyable to read. You should write more erotic, maybe with less Stiles in it."

"My gaydar is horribly broken," Stiles realises almost blankly as Derek pulls him closer with a growl towards his brother. "I spent five-years of my life trying to get a lesbian to notice me and go out with me."

"Stiles," Lydia sighs as she looks at him rather patiently. "When you saw us in a relationship, did you have vivid daydreams about us having sex?"

Stiles blinks and frowns at her, "What? No, I don't daydream about sex!"

"Lie," Jackson and Derek says at the same time, and Stiles flushes deeply.

"Okay, I am do daydream about sex now," Stiles confesses, wanting to cover his face, and Lydia smiles a little.

"Did you often have wet dreams about me?" Lydia asks him bluntly making Stiles choke, Derek growl and clutch his mate tighter, and Allison pinks slightly.

"Err," Stiles frowns slightly as he thinks. "I had some about you."

"When you masturbated, was it me you thought of or someone that looks a little like me?" Lydia continues her questioning.

Stiles blushes harder, chewing on his lip, and well, he did think about her, didn't he?

He did have a crush on her, so obviously he build a fantasy involving her to jerk off too.

But he only vaguely remembers them, the early and fumbled jerking off as he learnt what his dick could be used for, but then, well, porn and then the accidentally stumbling into _gay_ porn.

Stiles chews on his lip more as he thinks with frowned brows.

"Huh," Stiles says as he realises he had more wet-dreams involving tall, dark haired and stubbly men then a petite strawberry-blonde genius, and Danny had been _right_ , his porn folder is basically filled with men like that, dressed in leather at times, fucking a pale brunette twink or being fucked by a pale brunette twink-looking guy.

There's something satisfied to Lydia's expression as she leans back against the couch, and calmly watches Stiles think it over.

Despite his loud and obvious 'crush' on her, Lydia always thought Stiles wanted to be her friend more than he wanted to _be_ with her in a relationship sense.

“Interesting,” Lydia smirks as she leans back against the couch.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, nudging his mate from his thoughts.

“Nothing. Just realizing somethings that I didn’t realize before,” Stiles lays back down against the older man’s chest, curling against his boyfriend.

“And have you come to any conclusion?” Derek pesters, trying to see what his mate was thinking about earlier.

“Just, I seem to have a type. And you are apparently _the_ _type_ I have.”

Derek doesn’t preen.

He doesn’t.

No, no, he really does not preen at that statement.

Although he does smirk when he sees the glare on Jackson’s face, as the blond man pouts on the other side of the couch.

"I really have little self-awareness," Stiles realises out loud as Derek wraps an arm around him and pulling him even closer.

"The first step to fixing your problem is admitting it," Lydia quips as she takes a handful of popcorn.

"So, what's your type? Dark and broody?" Jackson asks as he crosses his arms. "I can be broody, and I can also pull off leather."

"While it's true about the leather comment, you sulk more than you brood," Lydia points out as she pops some popcorn in her mouth.

"Hey! I can be broody!" Jackson glares at her, and Lydia shakes her head in something akin to pity.

"No, babe, you really can't," Lydia tells him sympathetically. "You pout more than looking tragically into the distance and brooding about all your demons. _Derek_ broods, _you_ sulk."

"Tall, muscular men with dark hair and stubble, maybe a beard, wearing leather," Stiles bites on his lip slightly before adding the next part. "Either fucking a pale brunette twink or being fucked by a twink-looking pale brunette, that's the type of porn I always watch."

"Which makes it sound like you are more gay then bi," Allison points out, not even bothered that she's missing out on Mean Girls when there's real life drama playing out before her.

"No, no, I still like girls, but just, not as much as I like guys," Stiles blinks as he says it out loud. "I can't believe it's taken me this long to figure that out."

"I can't believe you didn't realise you didn't have a romantic crush on me for the last five years, but a platonic crush," Lydia shakes her head. "And yet you are the biggest challenge I have academically in our whole grade. Truly, you baffle me."

"Like I said, I have little self-awareness," Stiles shrugs slightly, slipping one hand under Derek's shirt to stroke at his flawless and hot skin, feeling his treasure-trail under his thumb as he strokes.

Derek rumbles happily, wanting to arch more into his mate's hand, and reaches up to drag his nails across Stiles' scalp in return.

Allison watches the two of them show affection with one another with such open easiness and it makes her blush.

Looking back to the TV, Allison can’t help but wish that was her. She doesn’t want to date either of the boys, but she wishes she had such an open and easy relationship with someone.

Scott was nice. He was like a puppy in her opinion, but sometimes he just wanted too much, and she wasn’t ready. They had only known each other for less than a week and he was already trying to jump through so many hoops.

Sighing, she settles back against the couch and accepts that she just hasn’t found the right person yet.

Well...

Allison glances at Lydia who still has her nose in the book on her lap, the redhead pushes a piece of hair behind her ear after flipping the page.

Blushing, Allison turns her head and tries to ignore the butterfly feeling in her stomach.

 _Lydia is my friend, and she's with Jackson,_ Allison reminds herself firmly.

It didn't matter that Jackson and Lydia's relationship isn't built on romantic love, that they are acting as beards for each other, the fact remained is they are _together_ in public as a romantic couple.

Allison isn't a homewrecker, she isn't going to try and get between them just because she may have a crush on Lydia.

And anyway, it's moot point all this thinking and worrying about it.

Lydia isn't out, Allison has only come out to the people that matter to her, and Allison doesn't want the dump all the shit she's dealing with when it comes to her family on someone—even if it's not really dumping anything on Lydia as she knows everything, and has been by Allison's side since day one.

Allison shakes her head sharply, annoyed at her thought betraying her, and presses play.

She needs to focus on the movie, drown out these stupid and hopeful thoughts swirling in her head, and just watch as Cady's 'evil' scheme with Janis is revealed to the whole female student population by Janis.

"This movie proved just why teenage girls should be both respected and feared," Stiles comments, his cheek pillowed on Derek's chest and their legs tangled together.

"And here I was, believing it was me that made you think that," Lydia says wryly, glancing up with amusement.

"Oh, you did," Stiles says easily, without any hesitation, and making Derek snort slightly. "This just proved it wasn't a uniquely you superpower."

Lydia gives a soft little snort of amusement, a sound that Allison hasn't heard her once utter during school hours, and continues to read with a hint of a smile curling at her lips.

"Does it actually matter that they gave her cream for feet to use on her face?" Derek asks in confusion.

"Oh yeah," Stiles answers before Lydia can. "Foot cream is too rich, thick and sticky to be applied to your face, and they are formulated to break down thick callous on your feet.

They often contain chemical exfoliants at percentages that you would _never_ want to use on your face."

At that, everyone in the room seems to give Stiles a raised eyebrow.

The teenager just looks around and shrugs, “What? I had to do a project with Danny once and we got into a long discussion about skin care. And I may have picked up a few things afterwards.”

“Just a few?” Lydia teases.

“Shut up,” Stiles huffs, pillowing himself back against Derek’s chest.

Just then, Peter and Chris enter the room again, both settling down on the empty love seat.

Derek’s nostrils flare and he makes a face, holding back on a gag when he smells his mother’s and Chris’ scent of cum and sex on the both of them.

Peter rolls his eyes and scoffs at his son.

“Oh please, don’t even. You and Stiles smelled even worse when you guys left the room,” Peter tells his son, grinning when it makes Derek blush.

Jackson wrinkles his nose, "But it's _old people_ sex smell."

"I am not even forty!" Peter protests, scowling at his youngest son. "I am certainly not _old_."

"Thank you for also defending me," Chris remarks dryly.

"My love, you are turning forty-one this year," Peter reminds him. "You are _old_."

Chris rolls his eyes, softening slightly as Peter kisses his cheek.

"That reminds me," Stiles perks up, reaching over Derek and flailing to where he dropped his phone earlier on the coffee-table, Derek rolling his eyes and grabbing it for him. "Thank you, babe," Derek's ears turn red as Stiles unlocks his phone. "What's everyone's birthday? I need to know, so I earn enough money for birthday presents."

"You know mine," Jackson scoffs as he nudges at Stiles' foot. "I'll be very disappointed if you've forgotten mine."

"How could I _ever_ forget?" Stiles asks dryly, adding Jackson's birthday, 15th June, onto his contact. "And the glorious goddess that is Lydia Martin is, of course, March Sixth."

Lydia's lips twitch slightly as she looks up, "I hope you don't buy me a TV again for my sweet sixteen."

"You missed mine," Allison tells Stiles, making the other teen frown at her. "It was the seventeenth."

"Huh," Stiles moves to Allison's contact and adds her birthday. "That's why you and Scott ditched school then. I'll have to get you a late birthday present."

Allison ducks her head slightly, feeling the still lingering disapproval of Allison ditching school with Scott from her dad.

"You don't have to," Allison protests, and Stiles scowls at her.

"I will," Stiles says firmly, before looking up at Derek. "What about you, Big Guy? When's the birthday for you?"

Derek shifts slightly under Stiles before answering, "Twenty-fourth of December."

"You're a _Christmas baby_ ," Stiles almost coos at Derek, mentally checking of his list of questions to become a better boyfriend, and quickly adding Derek's birthday to his contact. "That's adorable."

“More like annoying,” Derek grumbles, squeezing his arms around Stiles a little bit. “Everyone always tries to give me Christmas _and_ birthday gifts instead of just both. And half the time it wasn’t even things I wanted.”

Stiles gives a little frown, cupping Derek’s face to kiss his boyfriend, “Well this year, Christmas is cancelled. Because we’re celebrating a very special someone’s birthday instead.”

“You don’t have to,” Derek turns his head, trying to hide his blush. But Stiles isn’t having it, and pulls Derek into a kiss.

“Hush, you’re my boyfriend. Which means I’m going to spoil the fuck out of you,” Stiles slips his phone into his back pocket and cuddles Derek.

“Young love,” Peter comments, leaning against Chris’s chest and linking their fingers together, “How cute. Almost reminds me when we were young, and you could handle fucking for longer than twenty minutes.”

Chris makes an exasperated noise, “Stop talking like I’m fifty-years-old.”

Peter ignores him and continues, "I remember the way I _ached_ after you fucked me all night, the way I leaked your cum."

" _Mom,"_ Derek complains in a groan as Stiles shakes with laughter against him.

"I remember once, how you couldn't wait for us to even leave the dancefloor," Peter continues, ignoring his son and mate. "You just unzipped my jeans right there, jerked me off while rutting against my ass."

 _"Dad!"_ Allison exclaims, staring at her father in some kind of embarrassed shock, and Chris covers his flushing face with his free hand.

"You sucked me off afterwards, almost as soon as we hit the corridor," Peter continues with a smirk.

" _Please_ , stop talking," Chris begs without removing the hand over his face.

"Then had me clean up the mess you made in your jeans with my tongue," Peter adds, completely ignoring his mate's embarrassed arousal and his son's mortified embarrassment, and makes a show of licking his lips. " _God_ , I always loved how you tasted."

Jackson wrinkles his nose, "You realise how weird this is, right? Not as weird as you molesting Mr Argent in front of me, so I'd know what arousal smells like, but still, it's up there."

 _"Mom!"_ Derek almost gapes at Peter as Stiles wheezes with laughter.

"I don't know," Lydia muses as she taps a nail against her bottom lip. "It's kind of hot to imagine, if you are into dicks."

"Lydia!" Jackson looks at her in betrayal.

“Oh, don’t be so whiny, Jackson. You used to say the same things about Stiles.”

_“Lydia!”_

“Okay, I think it’s time for everyone to go to bed now,” Stiles says, standing up from where he was lying on top of Derek.

“Pack pile in the master bed?” Peter suggests.

“You mean the bed that probably smells like cum? No thanks,” Stiles gives Derek’s hand a tug, “Come on, babe. Let’s go to our den.”

“Okay,” Derek says with an awestruck look on his face at the fact Stiles called it _their den._

Jackson of course looks like he wants to join, but one look from Derek and he’s puffing out an annoyed sigh.

Peter chuckles as he stands, moving to pull first Stiles into a hug and then Derek.

"Sleep well, Pup," Peter leans up to press a kiss to Derek's forehead, still marvelling how tall his pup has grown.

"Night," Derek says quietly in return, burying his face briefly into the right side of Peter's neck, and rumbling slightly as his mother runs his fingers through his hair.

"It will be a Pack pile tomorrow night," Peter informs them as he pulls back, his heart warming at the sight of how easily Derek slips his hand back into Stiles.

"With cum free sheets? I'm fine with that," Stiles agrees. "I will see the rest of you in the morning."

"Lydia, you okay with rooming with me?" Allison asks as she turns to her friend, trying to push away any time of blush before it gives her away.

Lydia slides in a plain bookmark—the library having a collection of them, obviously to stop fools from dogearing the rare and probably priceless books—into the book she had been reading, and gently places it on the coffee-table before turning to smile at Allison.

"That sounds good," Lydia stands, brushing down her skirt. "I'll have to get my bag first."

"Sure," Allison smiles, standing up and putting the popcorn bowl on the coffee-table before looking at Peter a bit guiltily. "Oh, I'll just deal with this."

"It's fine, I can deal with it," Peter says as Chris stands with a stretch and pulls Allison into a hug.

"Night, Sweetie," Chris presses a kiss to Allison's dark hair. "Keep your door open a bit?"

"Dad!" Allison complains, pulling back, and glancing to where Lydia is grabbing her overnight bag. "It's _nothing_ like that."

"Uh-huh," Chris says in an unconvinced tone, and Allison pouts at him as Peter pulls her into a brief hug before turning to Jackson.

"I take it you don't want to share a bed with your Alpha tonight?" Peter asks somewhat dryly, and Jackson gives him a look.

"I am _not_ sleeping in a bed with cum covered sheets," Jackson informs him flatly.

“Nobody seems to love me tonight,” Peter sighs dramatically, earning a snort from both Chris and Jackson.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” Chris pecks Peter’s cheek.

“Thank you, love.”

Jackson scrunches his nose up, “Yeah, I’m gonna go sleep with Allison and Lydia.”

“I hope he means actually sleeping and not—“

Peter rolls his eyes at the older man, “Don’t worry your little head, Allison’s virginity is safe for tonight.”

“Peter!”

"Don't worry, Mr Argent," Jackson says as he stands with a stretch. "I'm gay, so yeah, Allison is safe from me."

Chris blinks and glances to where Lydia is holding out Jackson's overnight bag, "I thought you were in a relationship with Lydia."

"We are," Lydia says as Jackson takes the bag. "And yes, we have sex, but it's me fucking Jackson with a strap-on—"

Chris chokes, flushing, as Peter turns away to hide his grin.

"—so in a way, to the uniformed masses of the world, I am still technically a virgin," Lydia says in a musing tone. "I liked the power I had over Jackson, and Jackson got off on thinking about being fucked by Stiles while being fucked."

"Jesus," Chris pinches his nose, not knowing what to do with overshare of the sexual practises of teenagers—one of them being _fifteen!_ "I didn't have _anywhere_ _near_ the amount of sex you lot are having at your age."

"It's true," Peter confirms with a wicked smirk. "It was my sixteen-year-old-self that took the virginity of twenty-year-old Chris."

"You were _sixteen_?" Allison asks in an aghast tone, staring at her father in disbelief.

"Relax," Peter steps in before Chris can do more than look away with some guilt and shame. "He thought I was older, we _did_ meet in a gay club after all."

"But he found later, didn't he?" Jackson asks, blue-eyes sharp as he watches Chris wince slightly. "And he _still_ kept seeing you."

"We are tabling this discussion until tomorrow," Peter says firmly, wrapping an almost protective arm around Chris' waist. "Bed, _now_."

Allison bites at her bottom lip, but nods her head, and Jackson and Lydia share a glance.

Jackson purses his lips, but Lydia gives a little shake of her head as she glances pointedly at the couple. Jackson rolls his eyes, giving her a _look_ , and she glares at him as she shakes her head again, and this time glancing at Allison.

Jackson gives a sigh-like breath through his nose as he turns grudgingly to Peter, "Fine, we're tired anyway."

* * *

The moment they enter the den, Derek pushes and moves Stiles onto their bed.

Inhaling the still there scent of their mixed cum and sex, it’s _amazing_ and Derek slouches forward so he’s lying on top of his mate.

Stiles gets a hand out from under Derek and pats his mate on the back, turning his head to press a kiss to the werewolf’s throat.

“You doing okay, Der?” Stiles runs his fingers up under Derek’s hair, right where his short hair is.

The wolf rumbles with pleasure, scenting his mate against the sheets and rubbing all over Stiles’ body, his hands run up the teens sides, before dipping under Stiles’ shirt and groaning at the warm skin under there.

Folding his arms around Stiles’ body, Derek turns them over onto their sides, tucking Stiles up against him so he can scent mark Stiles and hold him.

“Someone’s in a cuddly mood today,” Stiles says as a way to tease the man, but ends up getting comfortable as Derek rumbles against him.

“Smells good. The room, the bed, _you_ ,” Derek confesses.

"You like it?" Stiles asks as Derek runs his nose against Stiles' hairline with a rumble, and blushing slightly as he realises what Derek can probably still smell.

"Yeah," Derek says roughly, unable to put into words just how _much_ Derek likes it.

It's sex and cum, satisfied mate, and _them_ , and it marks this as _their_ den, their own private den _just_ for _them._

It makes his wolf chuff in satisfaction, and it makes Derek's cock twitch and he wants to clench as the scent of sex—the unique scent of _them_ having sex, of mingling their scents together in that way, of mixing their cum together—makes Derek remember how it felt to have Stiles thrust against him, how it felt to _ride_ Stiles and feel the slide of Stiles' cock against his hole, how Stiles submitted so _beautifully_ for Derek in the shower.

It makes Derek want to strip them down to the bare skin, to press Stiles back against the bed as he scent marks _every_ inch of him, _claiming_ him with his scent and his touch.

It makes Derek want to roll over, to _present_ , to feel Stiles' cock against him as his mate fucks against his ass, as his mate _claims_ Derek like he's a needy and horny bitch.

It makes Derek's jaw ache, his fangs inching to drop and _bite_ , to drop and _claim._

It makes that slowly becoming familiar heat pool in his stomach, makes his skin feel hot, and his stomach swoops as he pulls Stiles closer to him.

It makes Derek want to make the most of today, _this_ day where the thought of sex with Stiles doesn't make him baulk or make his thoughts go in dark and unwanted directions, it makes Derek want to feel _all_ of Stiles pressed against him with no silly layers in the way.

It makes Derek feel _horny_ for the first time in, hell, Derek doesn't actually remember, it makes him want to have sex because he _wants_ it, and it makes him feel _good_.

It makes Derek want to get the most of those feelings before he _loses_ them, before he ruins things with his _stupid_ issues.

Stiles kisses against Derek’s jaw, marvelling at the man’s ever-growing scruff.

The soft kisses drive Derek wild, he _wants_ , god, does he want. But they’ve already cum three times today, and he doesn’t want to ask more than Stiles is ready for.

As much as Derek’s sex drive has spiked after being with Stiles, he’s started realizing things he’d never done before.

And secretly—since he’d never say it out loud—he’s quite happy his mom gave him the “goody box”, because then it meant Derek could enjoy some _private time_ and explore things he...hadn’t realized he was into. Blushing at the idea of fingers teasing at his asshole, Derek shakes the thoughts away and keeps a tight grip around his mate.

“Giant, cuddle puppy,” Stiles comments, petting Derek’s hair and grinning when his boyfriend chuffs. “So cuddly.”

_“Mine.”_

“Damn right I am. And you belong to me,” Stiles kisses Derek’s cheek.

"Yours," Derek agrees, enjoying the way Stiles verbally claims him and how _easily_ he does it.

"Come on, babe, we got to get ready for bed," Stiles kisses Derek's cheek again, taking note of the blush turning Derek's ears red, and grinning slightly. "You like that, huh? Like being called babe?"

Derek tries to duck his head in embarrassment, but Stiles cups his jaw and pulls him into a soft kiss.

"You don't have to say anything," Stiles says after pulling away, stroking at Derek's scruffy cheek. "I can tell, and I like calling you that, Der."

Derek chews on his inner cheek slightly, worried that it's weird for him to like being called 'babe' so much, but he _does_ like it, he likes _Stiles_ calling him that.

"Come on, let's get ready for bed," Stiles presses a kiss to his lips, a short chaste kiss that makes him want _more_ , and pulls away, reluctantly untangling himself from Derek's hold and climbing off the bed.

"Stiles?" Derek calls softly, chewing on his inner cheek as Stiles turns to look at him. "C-can we just sleep in our boxers? The both of us?"

It feels stupid to feel hesitant about asking.

They've seen each other naked, they've showered together, _and_ they've had sex.

But they haven't really slept with the both of them stripped down to their boxers, Stiles always wore some sort of vest or t-shirt to bed while Derek makes a point of keeping his boxers on for Stiles' comfort.

"Sure," Stiles nods, and Derek's mouth goes dry as Stiles pulls of the maroon shirt he had borrowed from Derek and throwing it over the desk-chair, and Derek swallows thickly as Stiles slips off his sweatpants before bending down to retrieve his phone from the back-pocket in somewhat an afterthought. "Come on, Der, sooner we get our teeth done, the sooner we can cuddle."

"Yeah," Derek says almost hoarsely, reluctantly removing his gaze from Stiles' ass, and getting up and off the bed, having to adjust himself before he can follow Stiles into the bathroom.

Stiles takes his time with brushing his teeth and washing his face off, he smiles at Derek who’s still brushing his own teeth before leaving the bathroom.

Bundling up under the covers, Stiles rubs his face against the pillow that smells like Derek the most and sighs with contentment as he waits for his boyfriend to come back.

He’s honestly a little surprised that Derek asked them to sleep in their underwear, but he could never say no to that pretty face.

The bathroom lights click off, and Stiles hears the sound of fabric rustling as Derek walks over to turn off the ceiling light, some more shuffling, and the soft thud of clothes being tossed to the ground before Derek is slipping into bed with Stiles. Both of their breathing sounds _loud_ , like it’s the only noise he can hear.

A nose nudges at the back of his ear, and Stiles feels the tension slide out of him as he presses back against Derek.

“Goodnight, Der,” Stiles sighs, humming as Derek wraps an arm around his waist and gives him a squeeze.

Derek, on the other hand, is thinking of less than pure thoughts, having his mate’s plush ass pressed right up against his cock— _holy god._

He just wants to pound—No! No, no, no! They were supposed to be sleeping!

Derek closes his eyes, breathing in deeply to try and calm himself.

It's a mistake as he inhales the scent of sex and cum, and he bites down on his lip, _hard_ , to stop himself from groaning.

He shifts his hips back slightly, so he's not so flushed against Stiles' ass, and rests his head against Stiles' shoulder as he keeps trying to calm himself.

He's _not_ going to push for more, he's _not_ going to push Stiles just because he's horny. He's _not_ going to be like _his father._

Derek just needs to lie still, focus on Stiles' deepening breathing as sleep claims him, and _calm the fuck down._

Just close his eyes, and _sleep._

* * *

It's not working, it's _not_ working, _it's not working!_

Derek grits his teeth as he realises his cock hasn't softened at all despite Stiles' slipping firmly into sleep, and only giving off sleepy contentment.

Derek wants to grind his head against Stiles' shoulder, he wants to pull Stiles flush against him again, he wants to rut and fuck against Stiles, he wants, he _wants_.

Derek groans, a muffled sound, as he feels himself _ache_ with want, and he reluctantly pulls away from Stiles, and rolls to sit on the side of the bed.

Derek glares down at where his hard cock is visible through his boxers, unable to believe that his cock had betrayed him like this, before glancing at the digital clock on the bedside table and almost staring in disbelief as he realises he's been trying to sleep for almost _thirty_ minutes, and he's still rock hard.

" _Fuck_ ," Derek curses as he grinds a palm against his cock, and he realises there's only _one_ way left for him to deal with it.

He pushes to his feet, about to head to the bathroom so he doesn't disturb Stiles, and he pauses as he glances down to where he tucked away the "goody box", and he swallows.

He glances back to where Stiles is curled himself around the pillow Derek used last night, taking in his deep and easy breathing, before dropping his gaze back to where the box is.

* * *

Bringing the box into the bathroom, Derek closes the door shut quietly and blushes when he hears Stiles make a soft snore.

Setting the box onto the bathroom counter, Derek opens the lid, and his cheeks burn at the sight of all the toys and accessories inside of it.

“Jesus.”

He starts simple and picks up the bottle of lube before closing the box again and pouring some into the palm of his hand.

Pushing his boxers down with one hand, and slicking his cock up with the other, Derek holds back a moan as he starts to fuck into his hand. Tightening his hold, he grunts and goes at a slow pace, just trying to enjoy the sensation while Stiles snores in the bedroom.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he pants softly, biting on his bottom lip and trying to keep himself quiet.

His mind is _filled_ with images of his mate; naked, beautiful Stiles, lying in their bed with his legs spread open, luring Derek between those beautiful thighs as he tangled his fingers in Derek’s hair and watches the werewolf suck his cock.

Derek is _good_ at using his mouth, he knows he'd make Stiles feel so _good._

Derek closes his eyes as he thinks about it, about sucking Stiles' cock.

He'd start slow, let Stiles get used to it. Just kissing along that _long_ shaft, let Stiles feel the brush of his lips from root to tip as Derek worships Stiles' cock with kisses.

It'd make Stiles squirm, he knows it will, as his mate would be torn with just enjoying what Derek is giving him and impatient for _more_.

Derek would tease him with more by using his tongue, dipping the tip of his tongue into Stiles' slit to get a hint of his taste, and then he'd focus licks around the head, small almost kitten licks meant to tease, to force Stiles to break and beg him to suck his cock.

It'd only be _then_ that Derek would take Stiles into his mouth, again starting with just the head, and slowly taking more and _more_ of Stiles' cock in his mouth.

Derek rests his free hand against the counter, using it as an anchor as he fucks slowly into his hand, and he hunches slightly over with a grunt as he thinks about how it'd feel to have Stiles' cock in his mouth, how'd he taste, the weight of him against his tongue, the way Stiles would probably end up tugging on his hair as Derek reduces him to whimpers and moans with his mouth.

 _I could have tasted him earlier, tasted his cum_ , Derek realises as he fucks into the tight and wet grip of his hand, but he had been too preoccupied in marking the both of them with the mixture of their cum, of _claiming_ Stiles with that very primal scent marking.

He'd swallow Stiles' cum, wouldn't waste a single drop of his mate's cum.

Stiles would probably watch with wide and dark eyes, would watch as Derek looks up at him and swallows obviously, swallowing _everything_ Stiles gave him.

 _He'd groan,_ Derek thinks to himself as he bites at his bottom lip and trying not to speed up, _he'd groan and probably say something ridiculous, before pulling me into a kiss._

At that, he thinks about kissing Stiles. Thinks about those soft, pliant lips against his as his mate makes those soft little kittenish noises while Derek licks the inside of his mouth.

 _Would Stiles try something? Or would he just lay there and let me dominate him?_ He thinks to himself, slowly down his pace as he lets his imagination run away.

Derek wonders what it would be like, having Stiles under him, touching and petting him, and then his mind makes him thinking about wondering fingers, stroking down his back and grabbing his ass.

Stiles would give his ass a squeeze. His mate likes to make comments on how nice Derek’s ass is and it always gets the man preening at that.

_Would Stiles touch me...there?_

The thought strikes a chord inside of Derek, and a whimper escapes his lips as he thinks about it. Thinks about Stiles prodding and stroking over his asshole, rubbing over him with dry fingers and then opening Derek up.

“Fuck,” he grunts, grabbing the bottle of lube and pouring some into his hand, not even thinking about what he’s about to do as he rubs a wet finger against his pink pucker.

His jaw drops at the touch, and a heady groans escapes his lips.

Derek shudders slightly as he circles his pucker as he remembers the feel of Stiles' cock rubbing against his hole.

Stiles would take his time, Derek knew.

It wouldn't be to tease him, Stiles wouldn’t think about that the first time he did it.

No, Stiles would take it slow to gauge how Derek feels, how he's reacting to it.

He'd spend a while just rubbing over Derek's pucker, circling around it and getting it to relax before he'd press a single long finger in.

Derek braces himself slightly as he presses his fingertip against his hole, groaning as he feels himself open up for it and the foreign feeling of something entering him.

Stiles' fingers are slimmer than Derek's and slightly longer, and Derek wonders how they'd feel in him almost hazily as Derek's finger sinks further in him.

Derek spreads his legs slightly, leaning forward to rest against the counter, and closes his eyes as he relaxes and focuses solely on the finger moving in him.

Derek bites on his lower lip, his other hand loosening its hold on his cock, and he lets out a slightly grunt.

The act of sliding his finger in and out of him makes him realises how sensitive his rim is, it's...good...but he _knows_ there's something better.

He just needs too.......Derek grunts slightly as he moves his hand awkwardly, curling his finger and searching, pressing as he searches.

He has a rough idea on where it's meant to be, knows how to find someone else's, but he's never tried to find his own, never even thought about doing this to himself.

_There._

" _Ah,"_ Derek cries out, immediately biting his bottom lip as he rocks his hips back against his hand, his finger rubbing and pressing down against his prostate, and making his toes want to curl as pleasure shoots through him. _"Fuck, Stiles."_

Derek wishes he had something to bite down on, something to muffle himself with, as he slips a second finger into himself, feeling the burn as he stretches himself and curling his fingers just _there._

* * *

Stiles wakes up to the sound of grunting coming from the bathroom. He doesn’t fully wake up until he realizes his back is cold, and Derek isn’t in bed with him. Sitting up a little jerkily, Stiles rubs the sleep out of his eyes before pulling the bed covers back and standing up.

He pauses when he hears another grunt from the bathroom:

_What? What was Derek—_

“Fuck—Stiles,” he hears the older man groan from the bathroom, and it clicks inside of Stiles’ head.

_Oh, he’s—oh wow._

He should sit back down, should just ignore the noises in the bathroom and go back to bed. But nobody said Stiles was smart because at this moment he absolutely loses every ounce of common sense in his brain.

Clearing his throat, Stiles raps his knuckle against the door twice, “Derek?”

Something drops, and there’s the sound of the man fumbling and cursing to himself.

"Derek?" Stiles asks through the door, not knowing what to do and wondering what the hell he had been thinking.

"J-just give me a moment," Derek's voice comes through, his voice sounding rough and _fucked_ , and Stiles bites at his bottom lip as the sound goes straight to his dick.

Stiles will be honest with himself, his dick had gotten hard in no time as soon as Stiles had realised what Derek had been doing, and all the sound of Derek's voice had done is make it twitch in his boxer.

Derek finally opens the door, just a little as if he's suddenly overcome with modesty, and he peeks out behind door with a flustered expression on his face, a blush burning from his ears and down his chest.

"D-did I wake you?" Derek asks, his voice still rough and raw, sounding like he's been _fucked_ , or he's been desperately holding back what he _really_ wants to voice.

Stiles wants to frown, wants to lean forward and look at Derek's face as it would reveal e _xactly_ what Derek had been doing, because Stiles has caught Derek masturbating, caught him about to do it on Stiles' bed, and yet there's something _different_ this time.

"You weren't there," Stiles says without frowning, not wanting Derek to think he was disapproving of Derek masturbating.

Because in no way is Stiles disapproving, no, no siree. Stiles is all on board with Derek masturbating and feeling good, and everything that would make Derek feel good and comfortable.

He's just.....curious, yes, curious, because he can almost _sense_ there's something different to what Derek had been doing just _now_ to what he had been doing this morning on Stiles' bed—and wow, it's hard to believe it's only been a day since Stiles walked in to the glorious sight of Derek stretched out on his bed and with one hand down Derek's boxers.

There's something different to the flustered expression, to the deepness of Derek's blush, to the sound of his voice, and it makes Stiles curious.... _and_ horny.

“Sorry, I was um—I just wanted to—“ Derek chokes back the words and tries to turn his face away.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me, Der,” Stiles immediately corrects, reaching out to cup Derek’s cheek.

“I-I was just finishing up. It’s fine. Lemme clean up and I’ll come back to bed,” Derek ducks his hand, and Stiles suddenly feels awful.

“Der, Derek, hey, come on big guy. There’s no need to hide from me. I’m not angry or upset. Jerking it off is totally fine,” Stiles takes a step forward, but not too much as he doesn’t want to step into Derek’s privacy.

“I wasn’t—“ he cuts off and Stiles raises an eyebrow. “It’s nothing.”

"It doesn't seem like nothing," Stiles says softly, trying not to misstep again, and Derek clenches his jaw. "You don't have to be embarrassed or ashamed of _anything_ with me, okay? You can tell me if you want to, or you don't have to say anything if you don't."

Derek doesn't say anything, his mouth moves slightly as if he's trying to say something, but _can't_ , and it's that expression, the embarrassment mixed with frustration that makes something click in Stiles' mind.

It's almost the same face Derek made when he tried to say that he thought of _Stiles_ being _in_ him, that he thinks he _wants_ that, and the denial of jerking off suddenly makes perfect sense.

 _"Oh,"_ Stiles almost breathes out in his realisation, and whatever affect Derek's reject of his touch had on his hardon is forgotten as he feels his dick twitch and harden.

Derek's nostrils flare as he turns to look at Stiles, and Stiles doesn't even blush, _can't_ blush, not when all the blood in his body seems to running south as his mind just _explodes_ with images.

Derek, gloriously naked, panting and grunting with _his fingers_ sliding in and out of his amazing ass, Derek calling out _his_ name as he fucks himself on his fingers.

"You—you were...." Stiles trails off, not knowing how to say it, how to say it without scaring Derek off.

"I'll clean up," Derek repeats, still sounding guarded, and there's something fragile to his expression despite the way he keeps inhaling through his nose, his gaze dropping slightly as if he wants to check, as if he can't believe what his nose is already telling him about Stiles' feelings on the idea of Derek fingering himself and _enjoying_ it.

"O-or," Stiles licks his lips, swallowing as Derek looks at him, and feeling oddly brave which may have to do with all the blood going south and reasoning fleeing him. "You could come to bed, and show me what you like....for when you are ready for me to touch you like that."

Derek pauses at that, and just _stares_.

Because...because what? No, that can’t be—what? No. Stiles wasn’t making any sense to him at that moment.

“You...want to watch me _masturbate_?”

“Okay, dude. You don’t have to say it like the world is going to end if I do. It’s fine I get the hint, I’ll just go back to bed,” Stiles goes to turn, feeling his shoulders slouch in disappointment.

“Wait,” Derek reaches out to grab Stiles’ shoulder, cringing a little when he realizes he had lube on his fingers. “Sorry—I. This is all just really new and hard for me to understand. You want to...watch me finger myself?”

“Yeah,” Stiles blushes, “It’ll be hot. And I can talk you through anything if you’re not sure about it.”

"Talk me through it," Derek repeats almost numbly, still feeling disbelief, and Stiles scowls as he straightens.

"Hey, I may have been a virgin until today, but that doesn't mean I am _completely_ without experience," Stiles defends himself, feeling the sting of wounded pride. "I know what it's like to finger yourself, to have your prostate played with, sure, it's only with myself, but I _did_ research."

"I-I wasn't—" Derek cuts himself off as he gives a frustrated sigh. "I-I just haven't done _anything_ like this."

Stiles calms himself, reminding himself that _this_ is about Derek more than him _or_ his wounded pride, and moves a bit closer, happily noted that Derek's opened the door a bit more, and reaches out slowly for Derek's shoulder.

Derek doesn't try to duck or even flinches as Stiles' hand makes contact with his bare shoulder, and Stiles strokes at it in a hopefully calming manner.

"It's okay," Stiles soothes as Derek leans into his touch. "I haven't either, so we're trying new things together. If it makes you feel better, I could masturbate too, in _whatever_ way makes you feel comfortable? Mutual masturbation is _definitely_ a thing I don't mind exploring with you. Or I could just touch you, like on the thighs or playing with your nipples? Or I can just watch if you don't want me touching you."

"I-I like you touching me," Derek confesses, his voice going soft and almost _shy_.

Stiles smiles, feeling encouraged, "I like touching you too."

"Y-you'd really want to watch me?" Derek asks hesitantly, biting on his inner cheek before continuing. "Y-you don't think it's _weird_ that I—that I want and like it?"

"Would I like to watch my amazing and gorgeous boyfriend give himself pleasure? In what world would I not like to watch _that_?" Stiles asks in disbelief, inching a bit closer. "And there's _nothing_ you could like or want that I would find weird, okay? Derek, I routinely research the _weirdest_ shit, trust me, I know weird, and this isn't it."

“Okay. Just uh...give me a minute to get ready,” Derek closes the door a little bit after Stiles gives him a nod.

Going back to the bed, Stiles moves the covers down and pushes the pillows around to his satisfaction. Rubbing at his already hard erection, Stiles bites on his lip to hold back a moan as he waits for Derek to enter the room.

The werewolf washes his hands, and closes the lid on the goody box, not wanting Stiles to see the contents that lie within as he shuffles back into the room and slips it under the bed.

Gripping the bottle of lube in one hand, Derek uses his other hand to pull down his boxers until he’s completely naked. Stiles watches him with eager eyes, which makes Derek a little nervous as he settles down on the bed.

“This okay?” Stiles leans in closer, an inch of space between them as he holds a hand above Derek’s chest.

“Yes,” Derek answers quickly, breathing out a sigh when Stiles starts to touch him.

Derek tries to relax as Stiles begins to pet over his chest, playing with his chest hair, and brushing against his nipples, but it's hard when he realises what he's about to do.

"You okay?" Stiles asks after a moment, noticing the tension in Derek's body.

Derek bites at the inside of his cheek, hating that he's already ruining this, and Stiles reaches up to stroke his face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm kind of putting you on the spot, huh?" Stiles asks, a bit ruefully. "Come here."

Derek lets Stiles tug and pull him, shifting them until Derek is straddling Stiles' thighs with Stiles leaning his back against the pillows, and Derek blushes slightly as he realises how _exposed_ he is with his legs spread over Stiles' thighs.

"I—" Derek cuts himself off, not knowing what to say as Stiles takes the lube from his hand and places it beside them.

"We'll just kiss for a while, okay? If you would rather just kiss then do this then that's fine," Stiles reaches up to cup the back of Derek's neck, and Derek leans down to kiss Stiles.

Derek can feel himself relaxing as he kisses Stiles, all the jittery feelings that filled him at the idea of basically _performing_ melting away as Stiles kisses him and strokes almost absently at one of Derek's thighs.

He can _smell_ Stiles' arousal, it has been constant since Stiles realised what Derek had been doing, and he can also smell how content and happy Stiles with just kissing Derek.

It almost makes Derek shudder in relief, to know that Stiles wouldn't _care_ if Derek fingered himself in front of Stiles or not.

"I—" Derek almost bites his tongue as he realises what he was about to say, and Stiles plays with the short hairs on his neck.

"You okay?" Stiles asks in concern, being so patient despite how hard Derek knows he is.

"Yeah," Derek rasps, ducking his head to kiss Stiles again, licking at Stiles' lips and swallowing the groan Stiles gives as he opens up for Derek's tongue.

Stiles strokes down Derek’s sides, marvelling in the way the older man’s muscles flex under his touch.

He thumbs against the man’s ass and then slides his hand up Derek’s front to give his nipple a pinch which pulls a hiss from the man.

“Sorry,” Stiles pulls his hand away, but Derek grabs it and pulls it back.

“No. It’s fine. I promise,” Derek presses a kiss to Stiles’ hand, and goes back to kissing Stiles’ lips.

“Here, lie back,” Stiles nudges, leading Derek so the man was on his back and Stiles was sitting up next to him.

“What—“ Derek cuts himself off with a swallow as he feels a hand travel down the front of his body. _“Stiles.”_

“Sssh, I just wanna touch you. I want to make you feel so good, Der,” Stiles kisses the man’s abs, avoiding his stomach as he remembers his earlier remark.

Stiles shifts and moves somewhat awkwardly as he settles on his knees between Derek's legs, and he looks up to check it's okay only to swallow thickly as he sees electric-blue wolf-eyes staring down at him.

"Can I make you feel good, Der?" Stiles asks, his voice coming out huskier and lower than he's expecting, and Derek makes a sound that's close to a whimper as he nods in the dim light coming from the bedside lamp.

"I won't touch your stomach," Stiles promises as he inches a bit closer, Derek widening the spread of his legs, and Stiles has to grind his palm against his clothed hard dick as he takes in the breath-taking sight of Derek naked and sprawled out against _their_ bed. "God, you're so _beautiful_."

 _"Stiles,"_ Derek rasps, a hint of whine threading through his voice, and raises a hand.

Stiles takes Derek's hand, and the older man tugs him, so Stiles is hovering over him while using one hand for balance, and Derek pulls his mate into a deep kiss that makes Stiles groan and Derek give something like a whimper.

"I'm gonna make you feel good, Der," Stiles repeats against his lips, letting Derek feel the words form with his lips, and then Stiles is sitting back, shifting on his knees.

Derek almost whines, almost grabs him and pulls him close.

He _wants_ his mate, he _wants_ to feel his mate and touch and kiss him, and it's only the feel of Stiles' hands on his right ankle that keeps the whine in his throat.

Stiles can feel Derek's eyes on him as Stiles strokes at Derek's almost delicate looking ankle bone, can almost feel the thwarted heat in those electric-blue eyes, and he wants to shudder, but he wants, no, _needs_ to make Derek feel good, so he focuses on rubbing in firm circles against Derek's ankle and moving up to the calf slowly.

"Stiles?" Derek questions in confusion, and Stiles glances up to meet those wolf-eyes of Derek, those bright electric-blue orbs focused solely on him, and Stiles wants to shudder at the bright _want_ in those eyes.

“Sssh, it’s okay,” Stiles kisses his mate, giving his leg a squeeze before moving his hand up to squeeze and massage Derek’s thigh.

The man shifts his hips upwards, and groans at the feeling of his muscles being massaged. Head falling back, Derek can still feel his straining erection bob against his stomach while Stiles takes his time, fingers teasing and petting his chest, while his other hand massages Derek’s thigh.

“Do you want to try fingering yourself? Or maybe touch yourself?” Stiles nudges, leaning back so he’s not in Derek’s space while the man thinks about this.

“Sure. Sure,” Derek bites his bottom lip, spreading his legs a little wider and blushing when he realizes how vulnerable he must look right now.

Stiles pours some lube onto his fingers, and Derek shivers at the cold, wet feeling before moving his hand down to tease down there, his breathing coming out uneven and shaky as he rubs at that area.

Derek closes his eyes as he circles his pucker, rubbing over it and feeling it relax under his fingers, and he shudders at the sensation.

Derek opens his eyes when he hears Stiles shifting, and there's a line of warmth against his side—the opposite side to the hand he's using to tease himself—as Stiles lies sideways and pressed against him, and then Stiles is dragging blunt nails through his chest hair.

"How does that feel?" Stiles asks him in a low and heated voice, his gaze focused on where Derek's hand is and moving, and Derek shudders, bending his legs and planting his feet to get better access to his ass.

"G-good," Derek says, his face feeling hot as he blushes, and Stiles hums as he moves to circle one finger around one of Derek's nipples as if he's echoing what he thinks Derek is doing to his ass, and Derek's breathing becomes even more uneven.

"That's good," Stiles says, leaning to press a kiss to Derek's chest. "Can you feel the muscles relaxing under your finger?"

"Y-yeah," Derek bites at his bottom lip as he feels his pucker relax under the touch of his finger. "I-I'm going to...."

"Okay," Stiles says, kissing at Derek's chest and making his way to one of Derek's nipples.

Derek gasps as he slips his finger in and Stiles immediately sucks one of Derek's nipples into his mouth, and the sound that leaves Derek's lips is loud and whine-like, and only vaguely sounds like Stiles' name.

Derek's free hand slips under Stiles' neck and curls against the back of Stiles' head, keeping his mate at his nipple as he slips his finger in further and curls it, pressing it against his prostate.

 _"Stiles,"_ Derek drops his head back, feeling himself clench down. "T-touch me _more_."

Stiles groans around his nipple as if he could feel what Derek's feeling, and pulls away from Derek's nipple to blow cold air over it, and making Derek gasp.

"I've got you, Der, I've got you," Stiles soothes as Derek turns his head, seeking, and Stiles kisses him.

Stiles reaches down between Derek’s legs to take his boyfriend’s dick in his hand. Giving it a few strokes, Stiles brings his hand up to swipe his thumb over the top of Derek’s cock, smirking when the man trembles and moans under his touch.

“So good for me, Der,” Stiles kisses the man’s throat and starts to suck a bruise into his skin.

Frowning when he sees the marks immediately healing up, Stiles just tries harder to leave a bruising mark on Derek’s throat.

 _Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes!_ Derek’s wolf howls, panting and roaring as Stiles leaves marks all over his skin. _Mate marks us. Mate wants us._

 _“Stiles,”_ Derek whines, shifting to add a second finger inside of him, his whole body feels like it’s on fire, muscles burning and trembling under Stiles’ lips.

"Is this okay? Do you like this?" Stiles asks against his neck before _biting_ down, and Derek cries out, clenching down on his fingers.

" _More_ ," Derek whines, throwing his head back and baring his throat for Stiles to mark, to _claim_ , and fucking himself with his fingers.

Stiles' grip around Derek's cock firms, and Derek whines as his mate starts to jerk him off while sucking and biting at Derek's neck. Derek's hips move restlessly, fucking back against his hand while also trying to fuck up into Stiles' grip, the rest of his body trembling as the pleasure just seems to build and _build_.

Derek's getting overwhelmed, by his senses and by the pleasuring building in him.

He can _feel_ Stiles' hard cock against him, _fee_ l the unconscious little thrusts Stiles is doing against his side, _feel_ the stickiness of precum seeping through Stiles' boxers, _feel_ Stiles' lips and _teeth_ against his throat, _feel_ Stiles' hand wrapped around his cock, the slight roughness of developing callouses from lacrosse on his palm against the soft and sensitive skin of Derek's cock, and _feel_ his fingers fucking him.

He can _smell_ the scent of sex increasing, _smell_ Stiles' arousal mixing with his and becoming so _thick_ that it's like Derek can _taste_ it on his tongue, and _smell_ Stiles' precum as Stiles' cock almost drips with it, with how much he's turned on by _Derek_ and what _Derek's_ doing.

He can _hear_ the wet obscene sound of his fingers sliding in and out of him, _hear_ the slide of skin on skin as Stiles jerks him off, _hear_ Stiles sucking on his throat between nips and _bites_ , _hear_ the rasp of cloth against skin as Stiles' boxers slide against him, _hear_ how vocal he is, the whines and whimpers escaping his mouth without him being able to stop himself, _hear_ the pounding of Stiles' heart in his chest, echoing Derek's own racing heart.

It's _too_ much, it's _not_ enough, it's...it's...

"I-I'm gonna...." Derek tries to say, slurring due his fangs having dropped without his notice.

“You gonna cum for me? Gonna be a good boy and cum?” Stiles licks up Derek’s throat.

“Yessss,” Derek groans, arching his back off the bed, coming all over his chest while Stiles keeps jacking him off with one hand the entire time.

It all keeps spilling out, and Derek shakes under his mate’s hands.

“God, there’s so much,” Stiles says in awe.

Derek whimpers, turning his head to silently begging for Stiles’ lips.

“So good, baby,” Stiles kisses him.

Derek kisses him back, rather sloppily, as Stiles slows down his hand until he's just giving slow strokes of Derek's sensitive cock that keeps leaking more cum against his stomach and chest.

"You did so good, Der, so _good_ ," Stiles praises as he pulls back, Derek's head dropping to lean against Stiles' neck, and he moans as the praise warms his chest and seems to go straight to his cock making it twitch as he _finally_ stops coming. "Look at you, you're so beautiful."

Derek whimpers as he hears the steady truth and breathless awe in Stiles' voice, and he tilts his head back up for another kiss that Stiles gives him, a kiss that makes Derek feel a bit breathless as Stiles pulls back.

Derek slumps against the bed, his head resting on the pillows, as Stiles lets go of his cock and brings his slightly cum-covered hand up, and Derek watches with half-lidded eyes as Stiles eyes his hand curiously before bringing it up to his mouth and _licking_ it.

Derek lets out a groan as he watches his mate lick up _Derek's_ cum from his hand with a hum.

"You taste good," Stiles comments, sounding surprised, before pausing slightly as he glances at Derek. "I should have probably asked if werewolf healing extends to STDs before I started consuming your cum."

"It does," Derek tells him, his voice rough and almost drowsy. "But I've always used a condom when having sex."

It hadn't mattered there that there was no chance of Derek catching anything from his _clients_ , he didn't want his scent to linger on them, in them, longer than necessary considering what his second job was.

Derek _always_ used a condom, _his_ own condoms at that, just in case one of his female _clients_ decided he would make a good sperm-bank along with being their whore.

"Cool," Stiles says, not asking, and continues to lick up Derek's cum like it's a nice night-time treat, and making Derek's spent cock twitch and harden slightly against his stomach. "Wow, you have, like, no refractory period at _all_."

Derek blushes at the comment and tries to cover his twitching cock with his hand, but then Stiles is placing a hand over his own, “Hey, it’s okay. There’s no need to get shy on me, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Some people find it weird,” Derek answers.

“Well I’m not like most people,” Stiles teases his thumb up the vein on Derek’s cock. “I definitely don’t find your refractory period weird at all.”

“I—thanks,” Derek turns his head to kiss Stiles once more, he pulls back when he feels Stiles’ own erection press up against his thigh, “Do you want me to—“

Stiles shakes his head, “Nah, you don’t have to. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

But again he’s interrupted by Stiles’ lips on his own, “I promise I’m good, Der.”

Derek chews on his bottom lip, knowing that Stiles is telling the truth when he says he's good, but not really _understanding_ it.

"Hey," Stiles presses a kiss to Derek's nose making Derek scrunch it up and Stiles to smile at him. "I promise I'm good, okay? I wanted this to be about _you_ , and you feeling good."

Derek......he doesn't know what to make of _that._

People.....people didn't _care_ if Derek felt good or not, they _cared_ about themselves and if they felt _good_ or got what _they_ wanted out of it when having sex with Derek.

"You want something more or you want sleep? You look a bit tired," Stiles asks softly, almost absently stroking at vein on Derek's cock in a way that isn't trying to be sexual, but still makes his cock twitch.

Derek thinks, still slightly confused by Stiles' actions and words, and grimaces as he pulls his fingers fully from his ass, clenching down almost in protest at the sudden empty feeling.

"Sleep," Derek finally says, feeling an almost nice ache in his body, and feeling more sleepy with every blink, and Stiles presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Okay, I'll be right back, okay? Then we can cuddle," Stiles says before carefully climbing over him and out of the bed with only a minor fumble as he heads to the bathroom.

Derek almost immediately feels cold without Stiles beside him, without Stiles touching him, and something akin to panic hits him, making him want to scramble up and follow after Stiles, to beg him not to leave him.

But Derek locks it down, locks his body in place, and tries to _breathe_ normally as he listens to Stiles.

There's a rummaging sound, the sound of cloth being folded, the twisting of a tap, water running, tap being turned off, and then Stiles' footsteps as he leaves the bathroom and re-enters the bedroom.

Derek almost shudders with the force of his relieved breathing as Stiles walks over, and sits on the side of the bed with a damp washcloth in hand, and sharp worried amber eyes looking at him.

Stiles hums softly under his breath as he cleans Derek up, the wolf lying pliant under his touch as he does so.

When he finishes, Stiles leans down to press a kiss to Derek’s lips and then gets up to put the washcloth away, and turns off the bedside lamp.

Coming back to bed, he throws the blanket over the both of them before settling down and wrapping his arms and legs around Derek. The older man had forgotten completely he was still naked, but Stiles didn’t seem to mind so he didn’t comment about it.

“Sleepy?” Stiles asks, running his fingers through Derek’s chest hair and then sliding his hand up the man’s throat.

Derek shivers at the touch, “A little yeah. I just....I feel good. Relaxed.”

Smiling, Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s shoulder and then nuzzles against his shoulder.

“That’s good. I want to make you feel good, I want to give you everything you deserve.”

Derek doesn't know what to say, Stiles' words make his chest feel warm, and yet he doesn't think he deserves all the things Stiles thinks he does.

Stiles slides his hand back down to Derek's chest, running his fingers through Derek's growing chest hair, and rests his head on Derek's shoulder as Derek's arms wrap tightly around his waist.

"You sure you don't want me to—" Derek tries to offer again, feeling Stiles' cock pressing against his thigh.

"Sometimes it's nice to feel horny without doing anything about it," Stiles tells him, staying relaxed against him and still running his fingers through his chest hair. "I'm good, I felt good just watching you. I don't need to cum to feel good, Der."

Derek frowns at the ceiling, still not understanding that because in his experience that's not true, but there's no lie in Stiles' heartbeat or his scent, and he finds that he trusts Stiles not to lie to him.

"Come on, Der," Stiles turns his head slightly to press a kiss against Derek's shoulder. "Sleep for my cuddle-wolf."

"That's not going to become a thing," Derek tells him as he closes his eyes, feeling Stiles press even tighter against him as he snuggles against Derek's shoulder like it’s a pillow.

"Too late," Stiles says, a smile clear in his voice, and Derek snorts as he drags one hand up Stiles' back to cup the back of his head. "Night, cuddle-wolf."

Derek shakes his head slightly in disbelief, a smile curling his lips as he relaxes under the weight of his mate and against their bed.

His cock had softened without Stiles' touch and didn't persist like before, and while the thick and lingering scent of sex makes his stomach feel warm, it was a low heat that didn't make Derek want to act on it, and Derek......Derek feels _good_ , relaxed.

"Stiles?" Derek says softly, hesitating slightly.

"Yeah?" Stiles hums almost sleepily, rubbing his cheek against Derek's shoulder.

"I-I _really_ liked that," Derek confesses, knowing he's blushing.


	6. Chapter Six, "I'm 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, okay? Sarcasm is my only defense!"

Saturday morning comes slowly, and Stiles ends up waking up before Derek does, not wanting to disturb his boyfriend, he leaves to go make himself some coffee.

He pauses momentarily when he sees Peter is already awake and making himself a cup of coffee, the Alpha turns around and smiles at Stiles from over his cup.

“I guess we both tired our partners out with sex,” Peter gives Stiles a wink, and the teenager rolls his eyes.

“Something like that,” Stiles pulls down a yellow mug and makes his coffee, humming when the fresh, hot drink hits against his tongue. “Any plans for today?”

“Not that I can think of. Hopefully, some Pack bonding, and I do think Ms. Martin had wanted to look at a few things while she was here. Records and lore, and other such things.”

Stiles sits down at the table, “Do you think I could get in some more magic practice as well?”

“As long as you don’t try to break your nose again. We might have to move you to another area, seeing as some spells can be a little...destructive,” Peter explains, “I’m quite fond of this apartment. I’d hate to see it destroyed.”

Stiles grimaces as he reaches up for his still sore nose with one hand.

"I think I should stay away from destructive spells for now," Stiles decides ruefully. "Maybe something more defensive? Like, oh, can I summon a shield, or something like in Harry Potter?"

"It's always good to have a solid defensive strategy before attempting to attack, I suppose," Peter muses, happy he doesn't have to yet worry about Stiles destroying his apartment. "You could also probably do some things with Mountain Ash."

"Mountain Ash?" Stiles asks curiously as he leans against the counter, and Peter nods as he leans his hip against the counter and holds his mug with both hands.

"Mountain Ash, also known as the Witch Wiggin Tree, Witches' Bane, the Wizards' tree, and more commonly known as Rowan," Peter begins in that lecturing tone that Stiles is quickly becoming familiar with. "Rowan trees have long been associated with protection against supernaturals.

People used to plant them beside their houses to protect them from witches, or spirits in Ireland while in Wales, they planted them in churchyards to protect both the living and the dead.

Druids, and other magic practitioners, however learnt that the ashes from the rowan tree could be used as protection against the supernatural. They called this ash, Mountain Ash after the tree, and have used it as protection and other ways over for centuries.

Making a circle out of Mountain Ash can either trap or defend one's self from werewolves, other Shifters and other supernaturals like us, it'll do nothing against humans or there's certain supernatural races that don't even notice Mountain Ash—they are either magic practitioners or descend from Fae."

"Wow, that's really interesting," Stiles says as he sips his coffee before narrowing his eyes at Peter. "Does that mean that Rowan wood does the same things?"

"Yes," Peter nods, taking a sip of his coffee. "We can't touch Mountain Ash and we avoid Rowan for the same reasons."

“That must have been fun, seeing as you lived in the middle of the woods,” Stiles snorts as Peter makes a face.

“Oh yes, I have some lovely memories of seeing Rowan trees for the first time,” Peter sips his coffee. “What are we thinking for breakfast today? Biscuits and gravy? Eggs, hash browns, toast and sausages? Or pancakes.”

“I can never say no to pancakes,” Stiles perks up, “Can I help?”

“That would be lovely,” Peter smiles, as they both stand up and start to pull out the ingredients for pancakes. “Did you know, Derek’s favorite thing for breakfast is actually pancakes?”

Stiles feels his eyes light up at the information on his boyfriend, “No, I did not.”

Chuckling, Peter starts to stir the pancake mix together while Stiles heats up a pan, “Yes, he prefers pancakes to waffles. Ever since he was a baby, I used to feed him bites when he was younger. He was such a happy baby.”

There's something wistful and bittersweet to Peter's tone as he speaks, and Stiles grimaces slightly as he realises that Peter hadn't been able to truly act as the mother of his own baby.

"What's his favourite type of pancakes?" Stiles asks curiously, trying to gently stir Peter away from dwelling on any possibly bad memories.

"Chocolate, of course," Peter smiles as he nods to the large packet of chocolate drops ready to be dropped into the mixture when it's ready. "He's always had such a sweet tooth."

"I've started to notice that about him," Stiles says, remembering Derek eating cookies and ice-cream with a look of quiet delight in his eyes.

"I'd always make two batches of cookies when Derek was younger," Peter tells him as he mixes the batter together. "One for the kids to share, and one solely for Derek," his loving smile slips slightly as he continues, "Derek always worried about being greedy, so he'd always ask if he shouldn't share them. I always told them it was our secret, and that they were all his. You should have seen the cute grin he'd give me, he was so happy."

Stiles frowns slightly down at the pan, turning the word greedy over his head.

He remembers yesterday morning, remembers how ashamed and guilty Derek had become when Stiles walked in on him, and he remembers what he said.

_“I’m being selfish, I shouldn’t do that. Especially not in your **bed**.”_

_Selfish, another word for greedy_ , Stiles thinks to himself, chewing on his bottom lip. _To worry about being greedy at **that** young of an age? That suggests someone kept telling him was greedy._

Stiles doesn't even have to think twice about who would do that, only parents had the power to instil something like that into a kid, and Peter would never say anything like to Derek, no, Peter seems like he enjoys spoiling Derek, and will probably try and do the same with Jackson when he got a bit more comfortable with his youngest son.

So, that leaves either Talia or the Rapist as the person.

Smelling the slight tinge of frustration in Stiles’ scent, Peter glances over to see the teenager glaring down at the pan he’s cooking the pancakes on. The kid looks like he’s trying to burn holes into the metal.

“Unfortunately, we can’t change things in the past,” Peter tells him, catching Stiles’ attention. “But we can try to make them better. If I could, I would have changed so many things that happened in the past. But I can’t, so I have to live with it and grow to be a stronger person.”

“You already are strong though. To go through that, and still be able to wake up in the morning. That’s strong.”

Smiling, Peter pats Stiles’ cheek before going back to cooking up some more pancake mix.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Derek lost his first tooth?”

Stiles grins at that, “No, I don’t think you have.”

* * *

Derek wakes slowly, sluggish, and he thinks he'd have fallen back to sleep easily if he didn't realise Stiles wasn't in bed with him.

Derek frowns grumpily at Stiles' pillow and the space his mate is _meant_ to be occupying, and extends his hearing from being confined to their bedroom and to the rest of the apartment, honing into the familiar heartbeat.

 _Kitchen,_ he realises sleepily, stretching with a jaw-cracking yawn before throwing the covers back and getting out of bed.

He stretches again, feeling his spine pop slightly, and scratches the back of his head as he follows the sound of his mate to the kitchen with half-lidded eyes.

"That's adorable," he hears Stiles cooing, a smile clear in his voice.

"He really was a cute happy little baby," Derek hears his mother sigh wistfully before continuing with a tone that suggests he's smirking at Stiles. "Did I ever tell you about Derek's favourite stuffed-animal as a toddler?"

Derek grumbles as Stiles almost lets out a gasp of delight, "Was it a wolf? Please tell me he had his own cuddle-wolf."

"Yes," Peter confirms, delight clear in his tone, and Derek scowls grumpily at his mother as he steps through the archway and into the kitchen. "He called it Arf."

"Like the dog sound?" Stiles asks in glee from in front of the stove while Peter smirks beside him while mixing another bowl of batter together. "That's so _cute_."

"Not cute," Derek mutters as he comes up behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around Stiles' bare middle and slumps against his mate, resting his chin on his mate's shoulder as he closes his eyes, still half-asleep.

"Der—" Stiles cuts himself off with a slight strangled sound, and Derek rumbles as he smells a ripple of arousal in Stiles' scent, turning to nip and lick at his mate's throat. "You're _naked_."

Derek acknowledges Stiles' words with a hum, but he's too busy—and sleepy—to really pay them any attention as he nips and licks at the fragile skin, feeling his mate swallow thickly.

“Dude, at least put on some pants,” Stiles says, trying to resist the urge to slap Derek’s ass.

_Jesus, that is a fine ass._

_Squeezable. Smackable. I just want to—nonono._

“I don’t wanna put clothes on,” Derek grumbles, pulling Stiles against him further like he was cuddling a stuffed animal. He looks over Stiles’ shoulder to see what they’re making for breakfast. “Pancakes? I love pancakes.”

“We’ve got some chocolate ones made specially for you,” Stiles grins, he doesn’t have to be a werewolf to smell Derek’s excitement.

"Good mate," Derek rumbles as he nips at Stiles' neck some more, and Stiles blushes slightly.

"Oh, and your mother had nothing to do with it?" Peter sniffs dramatically. "I can see how much my pup loves me."

"Mom," Derek reaches out without removing himself from around Stiles, and Peter smiles slightly as he steps in range for Derek to rub a scenting-hand up Peter's arm. "Good Alpha, best mom."

Peter blinks rapidly, looking vaguely teary, and steps closer to stroke Derek's head, "Good pup, best pup."

Derek sighs with his whole body against Stiles, eyes still half-lidded and somewhat sleepy as he rests his head against Stiles.

"I think you fucked him down to his instincts," Peter comments in amusement, running his fingers through Derek's bedhead and trying to make it look artfully messy instead of just a mess. "He's been remarkably conscious of Allison and Chris' human sensibilities."

Stiles thinks if it's possible to have a full-body blush then he just achieved it at Peter's words.

"What about my human sensibilities?" Stiles asks as he flips the pancake with the spatula, and Peter snorts as he adds some blueberries to his newest bowl of batter.

"What human sensibilities? During our first Pack pile, Derek stripped off and you didn't make a big deal out of it," Peter reminds him with a smirk, remembering the unmistakable scent of arousal that flooded Stiles' scent the moment Derek, completely naked, wrapped himself around the younger teen. "You took to Pack life like a duck to water."

"Yet I feel like I know nothing," Stiles sighs as he slips the pancake out of the pan and onto the already towering pile of pancakes because Peter didn't know the meaning of a 'small' breakfast.

Well, with three werewolves, three teenagers and one adult male, perhaps it was wise to make so many pancakes and different types at that.

 _The chocolate ones are only for Derek though_ , Stiles decides, glad he put them on their own plate.

“Don’t worry. You’re a quick learner, you’ll catch on soon enough,” Peter smirks, thinking about how much happier and calmer Derek is in this moment.

It’s possibly the happiest he’s seen Derek since the fire and before some, it makes his heart ache as he wished Derek had had a better childhood.

His poor pup, finally getting the happiness he deserves.

“Well, I was not expecting this when I woke up.”

Peter turns to see Lydia standing at the doorway to the kitchen, gawking Allison beside her and exhausted looking Jackson leaning against the archway and rubbing at his eyes.

“Oh my hot—I mean god. Shit,” Allison covers her eyes with her hands. “Derek! You’re naked!”

“Sorry,” although, Stiles doesn’t sound one bit sorry, “I’ve been trying to get him to put clothes on. But someone is being difficult.”

"I thought he was a _good boy_ ," Jackson snarks tiredly, heading straight to the coffee, and grabbing one of the larger mugs before filling it up.

"Y-you heard _that_?" Stiles asks with a deep flush, almost fumbling with the ladle containing the batter as he pours it into the pan.

"I heard _everything_ ," Jackson tells him, cradling his mug like it's his only lifeline, and then he turns to Peter. " _You_."

"Yes, my darling son?" Peter says brightly, turning to grab the syrups and such.

"People over thirty should not have _that_ much sex, nor should they reduce their partners to sobbing moans," Jackson informs him in a biting tone, looking completely _done_ with everyone, and Allison drops her hands to stare at Jackson and Peter with a horrified look.

"M-my dad?" Allison asks in horrified embarrassment, and Peter looks smug as he places the bottles and jars into the middle of the table. "Oh my _god_ , there's things children should _never_ know about their parents!"

"Blame Jackson, he's the one that brought it up," Peter shrugs a shoulder.

"You should get your dad a cushion for his chair," Jackson grunts as he leans against the counter, one foot shifted to touch Stiles'. "I doubt sitting is going to be comfortable for him today."

"I-I-I," Allison doesn't know what to say, and Lydia only smirks a little as she nudges Allison over to the table while Peter starts to set it.

"I'll get you some coffee," Lydia says, squeezing Allison's shoulder in silent comfort. "Milk and two sugars, right?"

"Yeah, please and thank you," Allison looks desperately grateful for the change in subject.

Stiles bites his bottom lip to keep his snickers in, but he can't help his body shaking with silent laughter, and Derek rumbles as he feels his mate almost vibrate against him, moving his head to nip and suck at Stiles' neck.

" _Der_ ," Stiles can't help the breathy way he says Derek's name, his grip on the spatula loosening as he feels part of Derek stirring against him.

“You need to put some clothes on, babe,” Stiles moves his hand around to squeeze Derek’s hip.

“No,” Derek grunts, still in a sleepy haze of waking up and being wrapped around his mate. “Clothes get in the way from touching you.”

“Deeerek,” Stiles whines, huffing when Derek just grunts and cuddles closer. “Fine. But you’re gonna end up traumatizing everyone if you keep this up.”

Frowning, Derek makes a grumbling noise and accepts his fate. Pressing a biting kiss to Stiles’ throat, Derek leaves the kitchen, ignoring the fact that people are staring at him, and Peter is cackling.

Entering his bedroom, Derek pulls on a pair of clean sweatpants before coming back out of the bedroom to cuddle up against Stiles’ side again.

“Cuddle wolf,” Stiles snorts.

“No. We’re not making that a thing.”

“It's already a thing," Peter tells Derek with a grin. "You were such a cuddly puppy."

"I knew it," Stiles says in triumph as Derek pouts against Stiles' neck. "Pancakes are done."

Chris enters the kitchen looking, well, looking like he smells really, like he had been fucked all night by an Alpha, Derek thinks to himself.

The older man scrubs a hand against the scruff on his jaw and cheeks as he enters with a yawn, sweatpants and a thin vest on—the top being a step up from what Peter's wearing seeing as his mother, like Derek, is only wearing sweatpants and he's more dressed than either Stiles or Jackson as both younger teens were in their boxers.

Out of the seven of them in the apartment, only three could be classed as dressed and that was barely as they were in sleepwear.

"Just in time, love," Peter says as he walks over to kiss the man good morning, taking a bit of delight in being taller than his mate now, and his hands immediately fall to the finger-shaped bruises peeking out of Chris' sweatpants. "Breakfast is ready."

"Smells good," Chris says as he pulls back, and Derek isn't surprised by the slight limp to the Hunter's walk as the older man moves to the table.

"Your plate is there," Stiles nods at the plate filled with a respectable pile of chocolate pancakes, and Derek kisses Stiles' throat before reluctantly pulling away while Stiles and Peter both grab the two plates with their own towering piles of pancakes to take to the table, so everyone can choose their own pancakes.

Chris sits with a wince, the thin cushion on the chair obviously not soft enough considering his night, and Allison focuses her attention on pouring herself some orange juice then watching her dad's gingerly sitting.

Jackson snorts as he shuffles over to take his seat, and looks like he's about to make a comment only to be elbowed by Lydia.

"I deserve some fun after last night," Jackson grumbles, but doesn't add anything as everyone takes their chairs.

“If you’re looking for fun, you might as well go somewhere else,” Lydia snorts, already cutting into her pancakes. She was expecting the best and she got the best. “I’m going to figure out how you make these recipes, Peter. They’re amazing.”

“Thank you, sweetie. One day, I can give you some cooking lessons, maybe with the whole Pack even. It’ll be fun,” Peter smiles, getting excited at the idea of doing something with the whole Pack.

He thinks about camping trips, full moons spent together, cooking lessons.

His wolf wanted nothing more than to bring the Pack close, and hold them all in his arms as tightly as he could.

“Can I join? That sounds like a lot of fun,” Stiles perks up.

“Of course you can, Stiles,” Peter reaches over to squeeze the teenager’s shoulder.

“These pancakes are really good,” Derek rumbles, leaning against Stiles to nudge his mate.

"Basically all due to Peter, I just made sure they didn't burn and cooked all the way through," Stiles dismisses as he leans into Derek's touch.

"You helped a lot," Peter says firmly, giving Stiles a look, not liking how easily he shrugged off Derek's compliment. "With your help, I was able to make a _lot_ more pancakes than I would have by myself, and it's harder than some people think to make sure a pancake doesn't burn and is cooked properly."

Stiles looks doubtful, but doesn't say anything, and Peter _really_ doesn't like how his first Beta—because Stiles will always be the first, the first Beta Peter bit and _meant_ it, the first to join his Pack—kept putting himself down.

"Why do I feel like I haven't eaten anything in a week?" Jackson demands in a disgruntled tone, drawing the attention off Stiles and to himself, something that makes Stiles flash him a small and thankful smile.

"Werewolf metabolism," Peter explains as he cuts up some of his pancakes. "You'll find your appetite will have doubled at the least, so you'll find yourself eating far more than you normally would. You'll probably find you will need to eat more often, bigger meals, and hunger will affect you more."

Stiles winces slightly, "I wonder how Melissa is facing the addition to the food bill then."

"If she's having trouble, I suppose I can give a helping hand," Peter grimaces slightly. "I _did_ Bite her son after all, so the added expense is my fault."

"So, that's why Stiles' lunches are so big," Lydia realises as she stabs at a stray blueberry. "You're used to packing lunches for werewolves, but the four of us were able to eat the two lunches you sent with Allison and Stiles, and feel comfortably full."

"It is _also_ my attempt to add some meat to those bones," Peter says, glancing disapprovingly at Stiles' visible ribs.

"Will people stop staring at my breasts?!" Stiles demands, dropping his cutlery to cross his arms over his chest tightly, and Chris almost chokes on his pancake.

“Those are very small breasts. I should know, I’ve seen a bit in my time,” Peter smirks when Stiles’ face grows hotter. “However, I am more of an ass man then I am a boob man. The ass is the best part of the body in my opinion, it’s where the good stuff are.”

“You’re disgusting,” Stiles comments.

“On the contrary, I am a lover,” Peter smirks while Chris blushes and rolls his eyes.

“If that’s what you want to call it, love,” Chris comments.

Scoffing, Peter cuts into his pancakes, enjoying them with a flourish while everyone else is either finishing up or getting their second plate.

Derek and Jackson both end up eating almost four plates of pancakes, while Stiles can only get through three before he’s done.

Stiles sits there with a grin on his face while Derek shoves his face full of food.

There's something incredibly pleasing in seeing Derek enjoying himself, and enjoying himself with something that _Stiles_ helped make.

There's a warm feeling of pride and satisfaction in his chest, and Stiles wonders if _that's_ the reason Peter likes cooking so much, without adding the whole Alpha wolf providing for his Pack thing he also has.

Stiles _did_ cook, hell, he _was_ the cook of his house, but whatever enjoyment and pride he may have gotten from it is kind sucked out of him between having to either eat alone, or make the drive to the station to eat with his dad, _or_ having to deal with his dad complaining about the lack of real meat on the days the Sheriff _could_ be home for dinner.

Stiles loves his dad, loves him fiercely in fact, but Noah's distinct l _ack_ of appreciation for the meals Stiles cooks, for the care Stiles takes in making sure that Noah doesn't end up having a heart-attack due to Noah's abysmal diet choice, and _actually_ lives to enjoy his retirement? Well, it really sours Stiles' enjoyment for cooking.

Derek _actually_ appreciates the food Peter makes for him, appreciates the hand _Stiles_ had in the pancakes this morning, and yeah, his compliments boil down to a simple "This is good" it's still an honest and appreciative compliment.

It's just short sentence, simple and to the point, something Derek actually prefers using because despite the fact Derek's talked _far_ more than what Stiles once—uncharitably—considered him capable of, he still didn't like talking more than he needed too to get his point across, which is more than fine with Stiles as he's been told—several times in fact—that he talks enough for _three_ people.

Which, while _rude_ , is a fair assessment to Stiles' ability to talk and ramble about things at length—and probably why people got annoyed and/or tired of Stiles because he doesn't know when to _shut up_ , which again, _rude_ , and this time untrue because Stiles does _know_ when to shut up, thank you.

Putting his fork down, Derek sighs and leans back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head while he relaxes with a belly full of warm food.

Leaning over and pressing against Derek’s side, Stiles rubs his hand over the man’s toned abs—Jesus Christ, you could wash clothes with these fuckers—and presses a kiss to the bare skin.

“You feel better, big guy?” Stiles grins as the wolf chuffs softly.

Jackson makes a clatter as he glared at the two of them cuddling, “I demand to have cuddle times with Stiles today. Derek already had his fair share, so I think I should get some too.”

“What!?” Derek sits up and snarls.

“Well it’s true!” Jackson waves with his hands, “You always get to hog him. And now I want my turn.”

“Hey, both of you quit fighting. Derek, Jackson’s right, I do need to spend more time with my friends,” that has the older man glaring and flashing blue eyes. “No, no arguing. Besides, you know I’m always yours. Jackson and I just need to reconcile our friendship with one another, again.”

“Exactly,” Jackson says with a smirk on his lips.

Derek wants to snarl, wants to complain that it's not _fair_ , wants to point out that Jackson spends hours a week in school with Stiles, wants to point that Stiles is _his_ mate.

 _"Don't be greedy, Derek."_ Talia's voice snaps in the back of his mind, and Derek almost flinches in response, immediately hunching his shoulders.

"Der?" Stiles' hand on his thigh almost makes him jump, gaze jumping up to his mate's face, and seeing the concern in those amber-brown eyes makes him swallow the whine building in his throat. "You okay?"

No, because Derek's been _greedy_ , because Derek has been selfish in hoarding Stiles to himself.

No, because Derek can almost _feel_ Talia's ghost at his back, radiating disapproval and disappointment but no true surprise, at his back like she always did when she found Derek being greedy. Like she always knew that Derek was a greedy person, that she was never surprised by his greediness, she was just disappointed that he could still not control himself.

No, because despite the fact Derek now knows how greedy he's been with Stiles, he still wants to hoard Stiles away, wants to hide in their den, and try to recapture last night and this morning, the good feeling and how relaxed and content he was.

"I'm fine," Derek lies, the words tasting bitter on his tongue as he lies to _his mate_ , and Stiles frowns, obviously not fooled, and he can feel the sharp look of Jackson on the side of his head, the spike of worry from his mother.

"Considering Ms Martin wishes to delve into Pack records and such," Peter speaks up, frowning at the change that's overcome his pup. "I was thinking the whole Pack could get involved in helping as I suspect there were things in the Vault that I was unaware of."

"After showering and such, we can get into that," Lydia says in a decisive tone, her hand gripping Jackson's thigh and stopping him from making a comment about Derek's change of mood. "You can call me Lydia, you know."

"I'll keep that in mind," Peter smiles.

“A shower sounds good,” Stiles sighs, still leaning up against Derek’s side, he turns his head to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek and the wolf makes a soft rumbling noise at that.

“I’ll finish up the dishes,” Chris says, standing up and grabbing the empty plates.

“Darling, you know you don’t have to,” Peter sets a hand on the older man’s bicep, giving them a little squeeze for no other reason but his own enjoyment.

Chris presses a peck to his lips, and Peter sighs into it, “It’s okay, pumpkin, I like helping. Now go start us a shower and I’ll hop in when I’m finished.”

Nodding his head, the Alpha watches his mate leave the table with hearts in his eyes.

Derek chuckles under his breath at how happy his mother looks, and is pulled out of his stupor when Stiles grabs his hand and leads them back to their den.

* * *

Stiles doesn't even bother to grab fresh clothes for either of them, just tugs Derek into the bathroom.

It's their bedroom after all, and if Stiles wants to walk naked from their bathroom back into their bedroom then he damn well could.

It also meant that Stiles could get Derek into the shower quicker, giving Derek less time to brood on whatever caused the turn in his attitude earlier, and give Stiles more time to put Derek back into that happy relaxed mood from earlier.

The waterfall shower is still ridiculous in Stiles' mind though greatly appreciated, Stiles has always _hated_ not being able to keep completely and comfortably under the warm spray, and the relatively new sexy times would not be so enjoyable if Stiles couldn't stay comfortably warm and wet.

Stiles turns on the shower, letting it heat up, and turns to where Derek's already slipped off his sweatpants and thrown them into the hamper, and Stiles _really_ can't help the way his gaze makes a slow drag up Derek's gloriously naked body, and he's pleased to note the cocky smirk curling Derek's lips when Stiles' gaze reaches his face.

 _That's good, that's really good_ , Stiles thinks to himself, arousal burning low in his stomach as Derek stalks over to him.

It means that Derek's earlier mood could be revived, and Stiles is very much _all_ in favour with _that_.

"Hey," Stiles smiles up at Derek as the older teen stops in front of him, hands dropping to Stiles' hips and thumbs dipping into Stiles' boxers slightly to rub at his hipbones.

"Hey," Derek says back before ducking his head to kiss Stiles, Stiles running his hands up Derek's arms before wrapping around Derek's neck as his boyfriend pulls him closer.

Derek pulls back from the kiss after a while, dragging his nose up the side of Stiles' face with a rumble, before pulling back a bit more as he raises one hand to cup Stiles' face.

"How does your nose feel?" Derek asks in concern, tilting Stiles' head to get a better look.

“Better. Kind of stings I won’t lie, but it doesn’t feel like I’m gonna cry if someone touches it,” Stiles answers, nuzzling against the hand stroking his face.

“That’s good,” Derek motions with his head, “Come on, the showers hot. Let’s get in before Jackson or Peter use up all the hot water.”

Stiles chucks off his boxers while Derek steps into the shower spray first, because he knew if he didn’t do it now he’d forget.

Following behind his boyfriend, Stiles steps into the shower stall and shivers a little when he feels the heat of the water spray against his skin.

Derek hums and starts to lather his hands up in shampoo so he can start washing Stiles hair.

“Are you upset?” Stiles finally pops the question.

Derek pauses in his motions, before continuing, “Why would you say that?”

“Well, earlier you froze up and started hunching in on yourself. You looked like someone had yelled at you,” Stiles points out, resting a hand on Derek’s hip so he can stroke his thumb over the man’s hipbone.

Derek's jaw clenches and his lips move in that way that Stiles is learning means that Derek's trying to figure out what to say, and Stiles waits patiently, content with stroking a thumb of Derek's hipbone.

"I've been greedy," Derek finally says in a grave tone as he reaches up to work the shampoo in Stiles' hair and scalp.

"You haven't," Stiles protests, but Derek clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

"I've been hoarding you," Derek corrects him, guilt and shame burdening his shoulders, before nudging him. "Head back."

Stiles closes his eyes and tilts his head back, letting Derek wash out the shampoo suds from his hair, "I'm your mate, you're allowed and expected to want me to yourself. I'm not complaining about spending time with you, hell, I love spending time with you. I was just pointing out earlier that Jackson needs some love from me too, not in the same way as you do, but still."

Derek's silent for a moment, nudging Stiles again and letting the younger teen to straighten his neck and open his eyes, and Derek silently hands over the shampoo as he visibly tries to figure out how to say whatever is running through his head.

Stiles lets him take his time, lathering his hands with the shampoo, dropping the shampoo back on its little shelf, and reaching up to wash Derek's hair.

"I'm greedy with things I want and like," Derek finally says, sounding like he's repeating something he's been told more than once. "I want to keep them all to myself, and not share."

"But you _are_ sharing," Stiles points out, scratching his nails against Derek's scalp. "And I'm not a thing, but a person, and if I had any complaints about it, I'd tell you. I'm not complaining about spending time with you, I love spending time with you, I love cuddling and everything with you. It's just Jackson has always been an affectionate person, and _that's_ before the Bite, and I know your wolf doesn't like the idea of another wolf touching your mate, but he's also your brother."

Derek opens his mouth to argue, but Stiles is sealing his lips with a kiss.

“I promise, you’re not being greedy, babe. Now bend over a little so I can reach your hair,” Stiles tells the man, commanding him like he was a king.

Not that Derek minded being told what to do by his mate, he happily leaned down and let Stiles scrub the shampoo into his hair, shoulders relaxing after the conversation he had with his mate.

He wasn’t being greedy, and although the voices in the back of his head said otherwise, Derek had to listen to Stiles.

Stiles was like the light at the end of the tunnel, and Derek was the helpless wandering soul that went towards it without another thought.

He still couldn’t believe how weak to the knees the little nickname Stiles called him made him feel.

_Babe._

Anyone else and they would have gotten a fist to the face, but Stiles...god Stiles just makes everything feel so different.

“Okay, lean back into the water,” Stiles eases him up and back, and Derek sighs through his nose as the water washes away the shampoo.

Stiles runs his fingers through Derek's hair, making sure to get rid of all the shampoo suds out, and smiling slightly as Derek seems to almost slump under his fingers.

"And hair is _done_ ," Stiles says as he rests his hands on Derek's shoulders and Derek straightens with a slight shake of his head, the wet strands sticking to his forehead.

Derek pulls Stiles close by the hips, ducking his head to kiss Stiles, and relaxing in the scent of contentment in the steamy air, and the easy touches that Stiles gives him.

The water is warm against his heated skin, Stiles' arms are wrapped around his waist and holding him close, Stiles' lips are soft and yielding under his, and there's no great need to deal with the heat in his stomach or the hardness of his cock.

"As much as I want to draw this out," Stiles says mostly against his lips. "We really need to wash and get a move on, or either Peter or Jackson is going to come in and hurry us up."

Derek grumbles slightly as he pulls back, knowing if his mother didn't barge in then his brother _certainly_ would.

Stiles gives him one last and chaste kiss before pulling away to grab a washcloth and the squirt shower-gel on it. He turns back to Derek, and starts to wash his chest, shoulders and neck as Derek keeps his hands resting on Stiles' hips.

Derek rumbles as his mate washes him, dragging his fingers through his soapy chest hair for a moment before he remembers to wash the rest of Derek's chest and shoulders, rubbing a soapy hand up and down Derek's neck in a way that feels as much as a _claim_ as it does Stiles simply washing him.

Derek press a quick kiss to Stiles' forehead before squirting some shower-gel into his hands and lathering them up, and he takes a measure of delight in washing Stiles by sliding his hands all over Stiles' wet and pale skin, a happy rumble escaping his chest at the sight of blooming bruises in the shape of his mouth appearing over Stiles' neck.

“You know, if I had known earlier how nice it is to be washed by someone. I would have done it sooner,” Stiles comments, sighing in bliss as Derek scrubs his skin.

“No. You’re mine. Only I get to do this,” Derek grunts, pulling Stiles closer to him.

“Okay, okay. Chill, babe. I know I’m yours and you’re mine,” Stiles turns his head to press a kiss to Derek’s lips before stepping under the shower head and washing away the soap.

Smirking, Derek presses a biting kiss to Stiles’ throat that gets the man yelping.

“Derek! No. We don’t have time for any of that,” Stiles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest to glare up at the man.

“Whatever you say, Stiles,” Derek snorts and finishes washing the rest of the soap off before shutting the water off.

Stiles makes a little pout at the loss of warm water, but follows Derek out and grins when the man starts to dry him off with a warm towel.

Stiles grabs another towel to return the favour, squawking as Derek puts the towel over his head and giving it a rough dry.

Derek gives a small laugh as Stiles glares out from under the towel, and he takes the towel from Stiles as Stiles steps back and removes the towel from his head, rubbing himself dry in quick and rough movements.

Stiles is dry first, the lack of muscles and hair working in his favour, and he moves over to brush his teeth as Derek finishes drying his body and gives his hair a rough dry.

Derek bundles up their towels and throws them—and Stiles' discarded boxers—into the hamper before walking over to the sink and standing beside Stiles as he brushes his teeth.

Stiles presses a minty fresh kiss to Derek's cheek, squeezing his side briefly, and walks naked into their bedroom.

Stiles doesn't go straight to get fresh clothes, no, he grabs Derek's discarded boxers from last night, and throws them into the hamper before grabbing some boxers and socks from the set of drawers.

Stiles slips on his boxers—sadly, another plain pair of a solid blue, and not his comic book boxers—throws his bundle of socks onto the bed for later before padding over to the wardrobe to consider what to wear.

Something comfortable, he'd rather have something old considering there could be dust from the things from the Vault, but Stiles didn't have anything old anymore due to Peter—something he still needs to have a word with the older man about—and he grumbles as he realises he may have to go on _another_ shopping trip to properly flesh out his wardrobe.

 _Probably Peter's wicked plan to choose all my clothes_ , Stiles thinks in a grumble.

Derek pulls in a pair of boxers as well, scenting the air when he smells Stiles’ frustration and watches his mate grumble something to himself.

Huffing a laugh, Derek pulls on some pants and a shirt, not really caring if they match or not as he sits down in the bed to watch Stiles fit into his pants.

“This isn’t a free skin show, buddy,” Stiles huffs at the older man, crossing his arms over his chest to give Derek a raised eyebrow.

“I mean, it looks like one to me. Not that I’m complaining,” he smirks wolf-like, and Stiles rolls his eyes at the comparison.

He walks over to press a kiss to Derek’s lips, and then shuffles through the closet until he finds a long sleeve shirt to wear. Pulling it on, he checks his phone and sends a few texts off to his dad and Jordan grinning when Jordan sends him a text back.

“Having an older brother is a lot cooler than I thought it would be,” Stiles comments, pocketing his phone before turning to look at Derek.

“I’m glad you’re happy with your brother.”

"You're happy with Jackson being your brother, right?" Stiles asks as he pulls on his socks.

Derek toys with the pair of socks he pulled out for a moment, "It's....weird, I've never had a brother before. But I like it, I like being a big brother again, even if my brother is annoying."

"Aren't little brothers meant to be annoying?" Stiles asks with some amusement, and Derek snorts as he tugs on his socks.

"There's annoying and there’s having a little brother with a crush on my mate," Derek points out dryly with a hint of a scowl, and Stiles leans forward to kiss him.

"You're cute when you are jealous," Stiles tells him with a grin as he pulls back, and Derek scowls at his mate.

"I'm _not_ cute," Derek informs his mate, but Stiles just grins at him and bumps their shoulders together.

"You are the cutest," Stiles informs him with that grin of his, and Derek growls playfully, ready to playfully lunge at Stiles, when there's a knock on the door and Peter opens the door.

"Ah, good, you're ready and not having sex," Peter says with a smirk from the doorway. "Come on, everyone is waiting."

Derek huffs as Stiles jumps up, turning to hold out his hand for Derek, and Derek stands and slips his hand into Stiles'.

"Come on, Der," Stiles tugs on Derek's hand, heading towards where Peter is leaning against the doorway, and Derek inhales as they get closer and gives his mother a _look._

 _"Really?"_ Derek mutters under his breath, easily smelling the scent of sex lingering on his mother's skin and under the fresh scent of soap.

* * *

Jackson sidles up to Stiles’ side, looping an arm around Stiles’ shoulder and sending a smirk Derek’s way. The older man starts to growl and then Jackson is growling as well.

“Boys enough. I am not going to deal with either of you fighting over me on today, as flattered as I am. I’d rather not become a remake of Twilight,” Stiles tells them both, pulling a snort from Jackson.

“Twilight?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him, “You know, Twilight? Biggest romance novel, it’s about a vampire and werewolf fighting over this girl because they love her.”

“That sounds stupid.”

Stiles coughs a laugh, “Oh, it certainly is. It’s so awful and—“

“Stiles, please don’t go on a rant about Twilight,” Lydia comes over to pat his shoulder.

“But—it’s so awful!”

“Trust me. I know, I tried reading it.”

"Scott actually _liked_ it," Stiles informs her in a mournful tone, and Lydia pauses thoughtfully.

"Suddenly he makes so much more sense," Lydia says thoughtfully as Allison joins them, tugging at her t-shirt.

"I think I packed some of my old clothes by mistake," Allison says with a grimace as she tugs at the faded and somewhat tight t-shirt before shrugging it off.

"Oh yeah, are you going to get the rest of your stuff?" Stiles asks as Peter leads his Pack towards the concealed staircase and up to the spare room turned storeroom where he placed the boxes from the Vault with the rest of the things Peter decided to store instead of donate to charity or throw away over the years.

"I don't think so," Allison answers thoughtfully with a frown, glancing towards where Chris is walking beside Peter. "I don't think either of us want to go back there, and I packed the most important things to us before we left. Everything else can be replaced, I just need to know _what_ needs replacing."

"We can help with that when we're done with this," Lydia informs her, a light blush appearing when Allison beams at Lydia.

"That would be so much help," Allison says happily, just as Peter stops at the storeroom—one of the former spare room—and opens the door with a flourish.

"I haven't organised anything," Peter warns as he steps into the spacious and cluttered room. "The boxes nearest to us are all from the Vault, everything behind them and covered mostly by dust-cloths are things I stored before the fire," Peter frowns somewhat thoughtfully, "I think I've forgotten at _least_ what half the stuff is."

"Dude, how big _is_ your apartment?" Stiles demands as they enter the room and look at the collection of boxes stacked around, the further collection of boxes, trunks and furniture draped in white-cloths behind them.

"Big enough to suit my needs with space left over, just in case," Peter says as if _that_ is a clear answer, and Stiles gives him a look of disbelief.

“You’re like a comic book villain, you know that?” Stiles snorts. “I’m glad you’re on our side, I’d be scared to see what would happen if we were enemies.”

Peter gives the teenager a threatening smirk, and Stiles totally doesn’t duck behind Derek. He doesn’t. He just wants to give his boyfriend a hug from behind.

Derek snorts, patting Stiles’ hip and presses a kiss to his mate’s cheek, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the big bad Alpha.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress,” Stiles scrunches his nose up in distaste. But he won’t lie, the idea of Derek carrying him bridal style, hmmm... _nice._

Shifting through the boxes, Derek scrunches his nose up at the dust and holds back a sneeze threatening to explode. Stiles on the other hand looks like a kid in candy land.

"What's this?" Stiles holds up what looks like an urn-like box made of wood with the Hale's Triskelion burnt on top of the lid.

"That," Peter says with a hint of a grimace as he looks over at Stiles, "is most likely my sister's claws."

It takes a moment for it to sink in, and Stiles almost drops the box as he stares at in disgusted fascination.

 _Well, that answers the question why it looks vaguely urn like_ , Stiles thinks as he stares at it like the claws are suddenly going to come to life and escape just to claw at his face.

"You mean your sister's _actual_ claws? Like ripped from her fingers, claws?" Stiles questions as Lydia looks up with a wrinkle of her nose, and Peter chuckles slightly.

"It's tradition," Peter tells the group of disgusted teenagers. "You'll probably find several boxes somewhere in here, each holding the claws of a previous Alpha of the Hale Pack. I do know that my mother's claws are..... _somewhere_ in this room."

Peter grimaces a bit more as he realises as Laura had been the Hale Alpha, he'd need to remove her claws from her before she could be buried with the rest of their family.

He wouldn't ask Derek to help with that, his son had been through enough with finding his sister cut in half, burying her and having her dug up which led to his arrest.

It is also his duty as the current Hale Alpha to do that, he couldn't shirk his responsibilities, especially not when it's Peter's fault that Laura's laid out on a cold slab.

Stiles places the box down gingerly, not knowing if he wants to know the reason behind the Hale Pack's tradition of taking the claws of the previous Alpha, and he _really_ hopes that he doesn't come across another box.

It's Lydia that finds the large leather-bound journal, letting it fall open to the bookmarked section, and there it is, all there in black and white as the saying goes, written in a neat hand.

_Derek Hale, bastard son of Peter Hale and Robert Hale. Blue eyes, dark hair. 24th December 1992._

Lydia purses her lips at the lack of middle names and the distinct lack of making it clear that Robert Hale isn't blood related to Peter while also removing the knowledge that Peter had been raped.

Below Derek's name is Jackson's.

_Jackson Whittemore, bastard child of Peter Hale and Margaret Miller, adopted by David Whittemore and Celeste Whittemore. Blue eyes, dark blonde hair. 15th June 1994._

And below Jackson's name is the missing sister.

_Malia Tate, bastard child of Peter Hale and Corrine, adopted by Evelyn Tate and Henry Tate. Brown eyes, dark hair. 28th November 1995._

“You really weren’t lying about Jackson,” Lydia says, the realization hitting her.

She didn’t think Peter was lying, but the fact that he _was_ Jackson’s biological parent was still wild to her.

She saw the resemblance in the both of them, she really did. And now she had the truth right before her.

“Can I see?” Jackson asks gingerly.

Nodding her head, Lydia hands over the book to the teen, and watches as he stares at the writing with a blank expression.

“I....wow...” he says in a mixture of hurt and awe.

“Jackson?” Peter comes up to the boy’s side, resting a hesitant hand on his shoulder as he waits for him to say something. Anything.

“This is all just so...crazy,” Jackson says.

Jackson stares down at the words, proclaiming to everyone who reads it who he is, and it also shows just what the writer thinks of him.

_Bastard son._

"Do you need to take a moment?" Peter asks him softly, firming his grip on Jackson's shoulder when he doesn't shrug him off.

"No," Jackson shakes his head, his gaze dropping down to Malia Tate underneath him, his little sister.

 _I have a little sister_ , Jackson thinks in disbelief, the notion finally sinking in.

Derek had been _there_ since the beginning, but Malia? Malia didn't seem real, just the girl that the Beacon Weekly sometimes featured with the headline of "Still Missing."

But it isn't just some missing girl, it's _his_ sister. His _little_ sister, his sister that isn't even sixteen _yet_.

"D-do you really think she's still alive?" Jackson asks, and Peter immediately understands, knowing just who _she_ is.

"I have too," Peter says grimly, squeezing Jackson's shoulder as he stares down at his daughter's name written in Talia's neat and unmistakable handwriting. "I'm not going to give up looking for her."

Peter's spent too long indulging himself in Chris, in acting like he didn't have a pup out there, lost and alone.

He _needs_ to find her, find his lost pup, and bring her home to her brothers before one of Victoria's thugs find her.

 _Monday_ , Peter thinks to himself with determination. _Monday while the kids are at school, I'll look for her._

"Why did she write it down?" Stiles asks with a frown, making everyone turn to him, and Stiles coughs slightly uncomfortably. "It's just, she took your memories away of Jackson and Malia, and yet she put them down in the official records? Why?"

"It's the Alpha's duty to record _every_ birth of a child of Hale blood," Peter explains with a twist of his mouth. "Despite her many failings, Talia took her duty seriously. It probably didn't even occur to her to _not_ add them to the official records, and I suspect she never thought I would look at them."

“That’s fucked up,” Stiles winces the moment the words are out of his mouth. “Sorry, I know she was your sister—“

“Don’t. If she was my sister, she—things would have been different,” Peter’s lips curl into a sneer as he steps away from the book, letting his hand slide off of Jackson’s shoulder just to make sure his son was scent marked.

Walking away from them, Peter goes over to a far corner so he can dig through the boxes there, not wanting to deal with the flood of emotions that are trying to surge inside of him.

Stiles watches the man walk away and then glances to Chris who is always watching the Alpha. Both of them wary and yet ready to jump if Peter has a breakdown, but the man holds himself together.

“Oh wow,” Allison gasps, opening a box full of jars that have strange exoskeletons inside of them.

She holds one up that looks like the cross between a fish and a gruesome looking humanoid-dog. “What is this?”

“Ah, I believe that might have been a water nymph. But it’s dead now. Long dead,” Peter tells her.

“This is insane,” Allison puts the jar back down, making a face at the smell of it.

"Oh man," Stiles almost scurries over, grabbing the jar and holding it up to the light. "An actual water nymph! This is amazing!"

Stiles twists it in his hands, looking like a delighted little kid to Allison's disbelief.

"The Greeks got nymphs _so_ wrong," Stiles realises as he stares at the bared fang-like teeth of the nymph. "This is _so_ not a beautiful woman."

"You shouldn't be _this_ happy about what's basically a pickled corpse," Allison informs him while making a disgusted face as Stiles looks eagerly into the box filled with other jars.

"Pickled corpse? _Pickled corpse_? These jars preserved pieces of history and the world we have found ourselves in the middle of!" Stiles says passionately, holding the jar like it’s a baby that Allison just insulted. "Genuine beings of myth, folklore and legend! And you reduce it down to a _pickled corpse_."

Stiles shakes his head in disbelief, carefully putting the jar back with its brethren, and grabbing the whole box in his arms.

"Shame, Allison Argent, shame on you," Stiles tells her firmly, turning with his nose upturned as if disgusted by her, and walking over to put the box _far_ away from her—to her relief.

"You do realise how weird you are, right?" Allison asks her friend, and Stiles sniffs as he turns away from her in a pointed manner which makes Allison bite at her bottom lip to hold back her giggles.

"He's always been this weird," Jackson tells her, carefully closing the journal and handing it back to Lydia.

Lydia makes a face at the journal, remembering the lack of detail on Peter's page, and puts it down beside her—obviously, these official records need to be redone, and done _properly_ this time, and Lydia would be the woman to do it.

"You're weirder for being my friend!" Stiles maturely retorts at Jackson, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue at the younger teen, and Jackson just rolls his eyes with a smirk as he turns back to the boxes around them.

“Whatever, nerd.”

“Don’t even try me, Jackson. We grew up together, I know what kind of nerd you are,” Stiles snipes back, smirking when the blonde blushes.

Derek huffs a laugh, opening a box that’s chock full of all sorts of occult like objects. Most of it makes his nose itch or give him the urge to sneeze, so he ends up pushing it away before moving to the next.

Pausing when he opens the box up, Derek pulls out a huge photo book of his family’s history.

It starts from the first Hale’s to the most recent, and Derek flips to when Peter was younger. Grinning at a teenage Peter, who was either smirking, sticking his tongue out or flipping off the camera.

It made Derek chuckle until he started to further flip through the book, frowning when he sees pages he didn’t remember.

Peter must have added them when no one was looking.

It was pictures of Peter and Claudia, the two of them looking like they were having a blast, and when he flipped the next page he gasped because they were photos of Peter’s pregnancy.

The way Peter’s face switched from loving as he looked down at his growing stomach, the look of a caring mother, someone who would kill and cherish their baby.

And then there were photos where Peter looked haunted, a ghost inside of a human husk of a body. It made Derek’s chest ache and when he spotted Robert in the photos, staring at Peter with this _hunger_ in his eyes it made him sick.

Did Robert ever really love Talia? Was he always obsessed with Peter and married Talia just to get to him? Or was he just sick in the head from the start?

Derek bites at his bottom lip, flipping backwards as if he could figure it out.

He starts at the wedding pictures of Talia and Robert, photos he remembers being placed on the mantle growing up.

Twenty-year-old Talia stands in a simple white wedding dress, her feet bare on the forest floor, and Robert's arm around her as they pose a husband and wife for the first time.

There's a series of photos of the two of them together, and Derek thinks he sees _something_ in their expressions as they look at each other, something soft that could be love, but he's not sure if he's reading something he wants to see or what he always thought he could see in their expressions growing up.

There is a full Pack photo dressed in their wedding attire, the whole of the Hale Pack surrounding their new member, and Derek swallows as he spots eleven-year-old Peter, pulling a face at the camera as his mother—Derek's grandmother, the one Derek inherited his unique eyes from—keeps her hands on his shoulders.

Derek frowns slightly, the way his grandmother is holding Peter's shoulders is almost protective, the slight hunch of her shoulders over her youngest pup, and her eyes aren't focused on the camera, but further down the line, to where the 'happy' couple are, and there's Robert looking at Peter with an odd look on his face.

Derek swallows, feeling sick, and flips to the next page where there's a spread of pictures with Talia and Robert at the forefront, both showing off the right-side of their neck and how they went through a traditional mating alongside the more human marriage.

Derek stops on one photo, the blurred side of his grandmother's face entering the frame, the scowl on Talia's face as she looks down to where Peter's obviously decided to photo-bomb it, and pausing on the way Robert is the one that's holding Peter, the curl of his hand around Peter's thin shoulder as Peter's pulled sideways into Robert's front as the focus of his green eyes is solely on Peter.

It sickens Derek.

Makes something black sludge it’s way around his insides, he can’t believe this entire time his own father was a _monster._

He wasn’t a supernatural monster, wasn’t a myth or something fake.

He was a _monster_ in the shape of a human.

A hand covers his own, and Derek startles from his frozen state of terror. Looking up, Derek almost flinches away when he sees Peter standing over him, looking down at the photo book with a blank look.

“I’m sorry,” Derek immediately flips the book closed, trying not to do or say anything stupid while his mother stays silent.

“It’s okay, Pup. I’m not angry,” Peter bends down so he can sit next to Derek. The younger man slouching in on himself and whining softly.

“I still don’t understand why you...”

“Kept you?”

“After everything you’ve been through? Everything they put you through? Why didn’t you just kill me? It would have made things so much simpler.”

"I went to Claudia after it happened the first time," Peter admits as he takes the book, stroking over the golden lettering of Hale on the front. "I didn't know where else to go, not after how Talia reacted and with my mother dead.

Considering what Robert did, we both realised there was a high possibility I could be pregnant. Knotting, after all, happens to help the breeding of your partner."

"H-he _knotted_ you?" Derek asks in horror, almost feeling bile at the back of his throat at the thought of someone actually capable of knotting while _raping_ someone else.

"Yes," Peter says simply, blankly, a shudder going through him as he stares sightlessly at the photo album. "Claudia offered to make me something, something to make sure it didn't happen. I immediately rejected it, almost violently, and that told me it was already too late, my wolf had sensed I had been bred and it would not allow harm to come to our pup.

Perhaps things would have been simpler if I let Claudia dose me with my permission, but no knowledge of just _when_ so my wolf wouldn't react, perhaps Talia could have pretended it was nothing, a fluke, perhaps I could have left and saved myself from Robert.

But I didn't," Peter's hand moves to his stomach, "I couldn't, not when it was _my_ pup, not when there was a possibility, slim though it was, that you were Chris'.

At the beginning, I think I tried to convince myself that you had to Chris', that the only reason my wolf reacted so strongly to Claudia's suggestion is because I was already pregnant before Robert..."

Peter trails off for a moment, swallowing.

"Claudia did the best she could, helped me as much as possible and didn't voice her concern that I was deluding myself in my belief. I went to the hospital, I needed to know what vitamins I would need to keep you healthy, and Claudia made me a special tea when I started to have morning sickness," Peter continues as he absently strokes his flat stomach. "Claudia would have protected me throughout my pregnancy, would have hidden me gladly in her home, would have figured out a way for all of us to leave Beacon Hills behind, but Talia came for me.

I apparently shirked my duties long enough in her opinion, I think she convinced herself I was staying away out of guilt for what _I_ did, and I think she had come to 'forgive' me and tell me I could come back without worry about what _I_ had done. But then she saw me, _smelled_ me, and she _knew_."

“I can’t tell if it was worse or better during the pregnancy. But there was one thing I knew, no matter what you looked like, no matter how much pain and trauma I went through. You were always going to be my son,” Peter presses a kiss to the top of Derek’s head, stroking his fingers through Derek’s hair while his pup clings to him for comfort.

“I’m glad you still kept me,” Derek says in such a broken voice.

“Of course I would, you’re my baby boy. My pup. My little ray of sunshine,” Peter smiles, such a tender thing.

Derek cracks a little at that, resting his face against Peter’s shoulder so he can hold back on his sobs.

Stiles edges a little closer to the two of them, unsure if he’s allowed to join or not. Peter lifts his head to stare at the teenager, and then gives him a little nod. With that, Stiles takes his time to come over and sit down next to Derek.

The wolf sniffs, and clasps their hands together, giving Stiles a squeeze while his mother continues to pet his hair, and Stiles curls up against his side.

Jackson comes over, looking somewhat awkward, and Peter raises his other arm for his youngest son.

Jackson is quick to drop down and slump under Peter's arm, a whine wanting to leave his throat as his mom holds him close while keeping Derek against his other side and in a way that he can keep petting Derek's hair.

Chris wants to go over there, wants to go and comfort Peter, but he feels frozen in his place.

He....he hadn't noticed so _much_ , he should have _known_.

He remembers Peter coming to their room, the way he crumbled against him with sobs, how tightly Peter clung to him, and Chris should have realised it was about something more than a simple fight with Talia.

He remembers the way he kissed Peter's stomach, the way the younger man had arched under his lips, remembers the softness of the previously flat stomach, remembers the teasing comment he had made, and the slight flinch Peter gave.

He remembers how Peter didn't want to turn his back on Chris, remembers Peter holding him firmly as he asks in a shaky voice if they could look at each other while having sex instead of letting Chris take him from behind that they did often.

He remembers afterwards, he had been lying half on Peter and stroking his soft stomach, and he remembers what Peter said, what Chris had _said_.

_"What do you think about having a baby?""_

_"What? Like adoption?"_

_"No, like an actual baby I've given birth too."_

Chris had pulled away, Chris remembers, had looked at Peter like he had been crazy while Peter just looked nervous. No, Chris corrects himself with hindsight, he had looked _scared_.

_"You can't have a baby, it doesn't work that way."_

_"Maybe for humans it doesn't, but wolves are different."_

_"You....you can get pregnant and you are **just** telling me? Fuck, Peter! We haven't been using a condom in months! You're barely eighteen! I-I can't just knock up an eighteen-year-old."_

_"Oh, but you can fuck them as long as you don't have to worry about **that**?"_

Swallowing tightly, Chris chooses not to approach the four men. Instead he moves away to look through the boxes, holding back the anger he has towards his past-self.

He was so _stupid_ , should have noticed the signs beforehand, should have just accept Peter and ran away together.

Things would have probably ended better than they were now.

“Do you want to go back to our den?” Stiles asks, gently stroking his hand down Derek’s arm as his boyfriend nuzzles his face against Peter’s chest.

Inhaling, Derek legs out a breath and shakes his head, “No. I-I’m fine. I just needed a moment.”

“Okay,” Stiles presses a kiss to his skin, “But just remember, if you need anything I’m here for you.”

“I know,” Derek swallows, turning his head to press a kiss to Stiles’ lips. “I know.”

Peter squeezes Derek's shoulder as his eldest pulls away slowly, reluctantly, and he knows that he'll be making sure there's clean sheets on his bed because Pack cuddles will be needed after today.

Jackson touches the photo album, both curious and almost afraid of what it contains.

There's photos of _his_ family in there, family members connected to him by blood, family members that he would have never known about, and he wants to know them, wants to see the features that he shares with them, to look at them and see parts of himself in them instead of disconnected like he does when he looks through the Whittemore's photo albums.

But there's also photos of his mom's abuser in there, his rapist, photos that will bring up more bad memories for Derek and Peter.

"After lunch, we'll go through this," Peter promises him, squeezing him tightly for a moment. "Every Hale since the invention of the camera has added pages filled with photos to this album. Though I think it's time to make a new album for a brand new Hale Pack."

It would be a fresh start, free from the ghosts of Talia and Robert, Peter thinks to himself as he strokes the leather of the album before putting it to the side, closer to the door, as his sons move to look in more boxes, Stiles staying in easy reach of Derek.

Lydia would love to term the Hale Pack as hoarders, but really, apart from the range of exoskeletons and skeletons in jars, everything else has a logical reason for being stored away.

 _Family records, family photographs, and now family diaries_ , Lydia muses as she opens a box cramped full of leather-bound journals with the Hale Triskelion on the front and with the name of Alpha whatever Hale underneath in gold lettering in various faded shades.

The newest looking one with the brightest of gold lettering is, of course, the journal of Alpha Talia Hale, and Lydia stares down at it in disdain, half tempted to just close the box and put it to the side.

But like Pandora, she is weak to curiosity and opens the book up, flipping to the last pages written in it and wrinkling her nose at the smell of ash.

Her eyes gloss over the words, flipping the pages until she stops when she reads something that catches her eyes.

_Oh._

* * *

_Robert was eyeing my brother again at dinner. It’s one thing to be related to Peter and still have him living in my house, but it’s another to know your own husband wanted to be with him more than he wanted to be with you. Peter was like a runt; I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and kill the man after what he’d done with my husband._

_I knew, of course I knew I could smell Robert’s arousal every time Peter entered the room. Peter ignored it. And I did as well, Robert was already mine but that didn’t mean the man had ever loved me._

_No, he was sick with love for Peter! And when I came home to find Peter with Robert’s seed in him I threw him down the stairs._

_Now the fucking runt is walking around with Robert’s child in him, growing inside of him and not saying a word about who the real father is. I will leave him alone during the pregnancy, and I told Robert to do the same or else I would kill Peter._

_That got the man to leave him alone, but what he didn’t know was that I was already planning on dealing with Peter._

_Once Peter gave birth to that bastard, I was sending him off to stay in Eichen House. Until I’ve fixed his bastard child._

* * *

_The bastard's Robert like I already knew, I knew before they even handed it to me._

_Under the scent of Peter's blood and such, under the scent of new-born baby, lingered the scent of both parents. Peter's, and of course Robert's scent._

_Peter screamed when he saw the nurses give the bastard to me, screamed and begged, and fought the chains keeping him on the bed, and the bastard wailed for its whore of a mother._

_I should have killed it, him, like Peter thought I was going to. It would have taught Peter a lesson about seducing **my** husband, but Robert turned up before I could make up my mind about dealing with the result of him not remembering to wear a condom in his moment of weakness._

* * *

_Derek Hale, just like Peter wanted to call his bastard, and Robert has barely put him down, hovering worriedly whenever the bastard naps. It's disgusting, how dare he care so much about a bastard when he already has a daughter from his **wife**?_

* * *

_He introduced the bastard to Laura! My Laura! Told her about her 'baby brother'! I could have killed him! Laura, of course, loves her baby brother despite not knowing that he's nothing but a bastard stealing all her father's love and attention._

* * *

_Laura likes us all playing together, like we're a family, and the fear that flashes in Robert's eyes and scent when Laura encourages me to hold the bastard makes me want to sneer at him._

_However, Laura's belief of us being a family has given me an idea._

_The bastard doesn't smell of Peter anymore, not unless you really searched for it, and smells more of Robert, and lately, me than anyone else._

_A bastard means embarrassment, means that my husband would rather fuck my runt of a brother instead of being the Alpha's husband, but a son? A second child, that would be celebrated. A future Beta ready to follow Laura's lead in the future? A possible future Hand for Laura when she becomes Alpha, and all it would take is claiming ~~the~~ Derek as my own._

* * *

Lydia closes the book, a hand coming up to cover her mouth after reading such horrible things.

She can’t believe the things Talia put Peter through, the way she thought about her own brother and believed that _he_ was _seducing_ Robert.

It made her sick to her stomach, and Lydia shoved the book back in the spot she found it, not wanting to read anymore because it was just so _vile_.

Talia had never seen Derek as her child, he was nothing more than a _thing_ to her. It was such a disgusting thought, but it was one that made Lydia glad that Talia is dead because she would have burned the bitch to the ground herself.

Turning away from the book, she shakes her head and glances back to where the boys were practically cuddling.

Stiles is running his hand up and down Derek’s back, while the older man shuffles through boxes of baby photos, blushing when Stiles cooed at a baby photo of him.

“Oh my God, you’re so cute. I just wanna pinch those little cheeks of yours,” Stiles says in awe.

"I'm not cute," Derek grumbles with a blush, but Stiles scoffs.

"You are the cutest thing I've _ever_ seen," Stiles says firmly, with a tone that says he'd fight anyone that disagreed with him. "Look at those chubby cheeks, that gummy little smile. You happy chubby baby you."

"You know you just spoke nonsense just then, right?" Derek says dryly as he places the photo on a neat stack he's making beside him.

Lydia wants to smile at the scene, at Derek being happy despite Talia's actions, but she looks back at her box with a grimace as she folds the flaps together and lifts it with a grunt.

As much as she'd rather _never_ read anything Talia's written again, she knows just how important it is to have an understanding of the regime that came before, so the current regime doesn't fall in the same pitfalls, and she's going to use that understanding with her Pack.

She, however, is _never_ going to let any of the Hales—and she's including Jackson in this—ever read Talia's diary.

"Is baby Derek enjoying his bubble-bath? Yes, he is!" Stiles coos, and Derek almost yelps as he snatches the photo of him as a toddler in the bath.

"You're ridiculous," Derek informs Stiles with a bright blush, clasping the photo tight against his chest, so no-one could see it.

"Ridiculous for you," Stiles informs him with a grin and a dramatic batting of his lashes which only makes Derek snort, and Peter look up to exchange a grin with Chris.

Peter frowns slightly as his mate doesn't look up, his focus seeming completely focused on the boxes in front of him despite the tension in his shoulders and the self-directed scent of anger telling Peter otherwise.

Peter moves over to his mate, not even glancing into the box Chris is staring in, and places his hand on Chris' shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Peter asks him softly, and guilt sours Chris' scent as the older man tenses under his touch. "Christopher?"

“It’s nothing love,” Chris lies, giving Peter a smile before trying to go back to shuffling through the boxes.

“You’re lying. You know I don’t like liars,” Peter glares, grabbing Chris’s wrist to stop him.

“It’s nothing, Peter,” Chris tries to shake but Peter holds his hand tightly. Sighing, Chris shakes his head, “It’s just—I’m starting to remember a lot of things we talked about before. And it’s starting to make sense, I’m sorry for taking your words for granted. I should have listened to you.”

“Oh, Christopher. You silly man, we’ve both had our bumps in the road. But all that matters is that it still led me back to you, of course I wish we could have changed things. But then I wouldn’t have had Derek and you wouldn’t have had Allison.”

That's the sticking point, isn't it?

If Chris had listened, if Chris had just _thought_ it through instead of simply _reacting_ then he wouldn't have had Allison.

Chris turns to face Peter and cups the man's face, brushing a thumb over his burn scars, "You're worth more than how I treated you in the past, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Peter says, sighing slightly as he leans into Chris' hand, and Chris almost wants to shake his head.

Peter didn't have to apologise, had nothing to apologise about, not like Chris.

Chris who didn't see that Peter had been _hurt_ so badly, Chris who didn't realise Peter had been hurting, Chris who hadn't seen that Peter had been trying to find a way to tell him about Derek, and had simply reacted, _badly_ , had left Peter in their room.

It had been the last time they were able to just _be_ together as barely a month later Peter said he couldn't meet up for the rest of the year, and Gerard informed Chris that he was to be married.

Chris tugs Peter close, raising a hand to stroke at Peter's stomach almost thoughtfully, and Peter shudders, closing his eyes.

 _Maybe....maybe it's not too late_ , Chris thinks as he imagines Peter's stomach going soft then round with _their_ baby, a baby they could raise together.

Peter's only turning thirty-seven this year, that's not too old for a werewolf to have a baby. They'd have to wait until after Kate's arrested, possibly even Victoria, and then see what Gerard will do in response, but _maybe_ , maybe they could have the chance they _should_ have had.

"Christopher," Peter says in a pained voice, stepping away from Chris. "Stop what you are thinking, _please_ stop."

"What?" Chris asks, stomaching sinking as Peter crosses his arms over his stomach almost protectively. "Peter?"

"We _can't_ ," Peter says in that pained tone, Derek looking up with a frown. "We can't, _please_ , stop thinking about it."

"Peter, what do you mean?"

Peter lets out a whine at the hurt confusion in Chris’ voice.

“After having Derek, Talia—she—“ the words sear the inside of his mouth as he tells Chris the truth, “She took me to Deaton to have me _fixed_ , didn’t want any more bastard children running around.”

The feeling of his stomach dropping has Chris flinching a little at those words. They toyed with Peter like he was some kind of dog nobody wanted in the house and it made that fire inside of him burn with rage.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Chris pulls Peter back into his arms, stroking a hand down Peter’s back. The wolf shivers a little in his arms, tucking his face into Chris’s throat while clinging to the man’s strong form.

“I wanted to have a child with you, but...we can never get that again. I’m sorry,” Peter squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting the tears threatening to break out, fall down his cheeks and get them wet.

“It’s okay. We already have more than enough kids, I’m happy if you’re happy,” turning his head, Chris presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek and holds his mate close.

He won’t lie, a part of him will mourn not being able to have a child with Peter but he knows not to say anything about it. He’s sure Peter also wishes they could have a child as well, but life is cruel, and they must suffer its consequences.

"I'm sorry," Peter repeats, like it's his fault that his sister was a cruel bitch, and Chris pulls Peter closer, wishing he had been able to protect Peter.

"It's not your fault," Chris tells him, one hand reaching up to thread through Peter's hair as the wolf presses his face against Chris' throat. "It's not your fault."

Peter whines softly, a hurt sound that stabs Chris right in his heart, and Chris closes his eyes, trying to hold back his own tears, and turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Peter's head.

"It's okay," Chris repeats, his lips still pressing against Peter's head. "It's okay, we have Derek, Allison and Jackson. We'll find Malia, that's four teenagers, love. We'll have our hands full."

Derek stares at where his mother is being held by Chris, the way Chris is trying to stand taller and curl around Peter like he's trying to protect the younger man, and he feels sick as the words bounce in his skull.

_"She took me to Deaton to have me **fixed.** "_

Derek knew that Talia had been cruel, he _knew_.

She blamed Peter for getting _raped_ , she took Derek from Peter and acted like Derek was _her_ son, she took Peter's memories of Jackson and Malia.

But getting Peter _fixed_? Like Derek's mother was nothing more than a _dog_ that inconvenienced their owner by getting pregnant?

That's beyond cruel, that's unthinkable, _should_ have been unthinkable for _any_ werewolf to do to another, that's something a _Hunter_ does, not a fellow werewolf, not a _sister_ , not an _Alpha_!

"Der?" Stiles' voice breaks him out of his horror, and Derek looks at him, not knowing what to _do_ let alone _say_ , and Stiles immediately pulls Derek against him, letting the taller man slump with a shudder and bury his nose against Stiles' throat. "Hey, it's okay, it's going to be okay."

Stiles doesn't know, he doesn't realise it's _not_ okay, that it's because _Derek_ had been born that Peter will never carry another pup, will never give his mate a pup like he wants to.

* * *

Derek stays quiet the rest of the time they spend looking through the books and boxes.

He hates being in this room so much, being filled with horrible memories and terrifying truths he never wanted to know about.

Stiles was like an anchor that kept him in place while he was being hit with wave after wave of misery.

“Come on,” Stiles puts the book he was flipping through away and tugs Derek to his feet.

Derek follows like a silent ghost, blinking owlishly while Stiles leads him to the kitchen. Stiles makes a glass of water and hands it to Derek, who stares at it for a while, before drinking it.

Pulling out a box of crackers and some sliced ham, as well as bread, Stiles starts to work on making them both a ham sandwich with some snacks on the side.

Once in a while slipping over some food for Derek to munch on while his boyfriend sits there like a husk.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Stiles asks as he slides the plate with the simple ham sandwich and crackers across the counter to where Derek is sitting on one of the breakfast-bar stools—the first time Stiles seen them actually being used instead of the solid table—and he tries to keep his voice soft and with zero pressure for him to talk.

Stiles leans against the counter part of the breakfast-bar, his own plate in front of him, and he watches Derek stare at his snack—from what he's figured, a sandwich and some crackers does not make a lunch for a werewolf—before letting out a shuddering breath.

"She got him _fixed_ like he was a dog," Derek says quietly, his voice filled with horror and even some guilt.

Stiles' bite of his sandwich tastes like ash in his mouth as he swallows and places the sandwich down gingerly.

Stiles doesn't need to ask who she was or even who he was, because it's obvious just who Derek would be talking about, and he feels a surge of useless anger towards Talia Hale.

 _I'm going to piss on your grave, and not feel bad for a moment_ , he thinks savagely, pushing out his thoughts as he hopes she can hear them wherever she is, hopefully hell.

"M-mom looked so happy when pregnant," Derek continues in that same horrified and guilty tone. "Despite _everything_ , he was happy, and he _loved_ me, but because he kept me, because he had me, he can't have another pup, not like _that_ anyway. I'm the reason he can't carry a pup for Chris, and he _wants_ to, he _wants_ to have their pup, but he _can't_ because—"

"Because Talia Hale was a cruel and evil person," Stiles interrupts firmly, not wanting to hear Derek blame himself again for what _Talia_ had done to Peter. "Because Robert Hale was a rapist, who attacked Peter. It wasn't your fault, it isn't your fault, and I won't let you blame yourself for their actions. You were a baby, you were _Peter's_ baby, and he _loves_ you. He'll _never_ regret having you, you are his pup."

Derek bites his bottom lip, wanting so much to argue and tell Stiles he was wrong, but looking at Stiles’ face he can feel the fight in him dying down because he knows Stiles is right. As hard as it is to not want to argue, to shake Stiles and tell him that this is all _Derek’s_ fault.

“You’re so good, Derek. You’re not a horrible person but you’ve been hurt and manipulated by a lot of horrible people. And I’m sorry that ever happened to you,” Stiles takes hold of Derek’s hand.

“I...” He had no idea what to say, so instead Derek sits there in silence, munching on his sandwich while Stiles kept a hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze every once in a while.

“You’re a good person. You’re loved. And if I have to tell you every day, I will,” Stiles grins, leaning over to kiss Derek’s cheek, causing the older man to grow flustered and tilt his head away to hide the blush on his cheeks.

Stiles has to hold back the squeal he wants to make at how cute his boyfriend is.

Trying to change the subject, Stiles says, “Do you think I could photocopy a baby picture of you to have in my wallet?”

"No!" Derek almost yelps, knowing Stiles wouldn't be able to resist showing off how 'cute' Derek was as a baby, and Stiles playfully pouts.

"But how am I meant to convince everyone that you are the cutest thing _ever_ without proof you've been that way since day one?" Stiles teases making Derek scowl while blushing.

To think, Stiles had been convinced that Derek couldn't be anything, but intimidatingly hot when really, Derek's a scowly cute teddy bear—or wolf in Derek's case.

"Cuddly wolf," Stiles coos, and Derek scowls more.

"That's _not_ going to be a thing," Derek repeats, though he has to know that it's _already_ a thing.

Peter even backs him up on Derek being a cuddly wolf, so Stiles wins.

Stiles doesn't argue, he knows he's already won after all, and simply smiles at Derek between bites as Derek glares at him suspiciously.

"Hey, do you think we could find Arf in those boxes?" Stiles asks thoughtfully. "I'd love to see your favourite stuffed-toy."

"I asked mom to throw it out," Derek shakes his head, and Stiles gives Derek a look.

"You think that Peter, Peter the proudest mom to _ever_ mom, would throw out your favourite stuffed-toy?" Stiles asks in disbelief. "You are kidding yourself, and I'm not going to rest until I find Arf, and save him from his box prison. He'll have pride of place in our den, and never be shut away again."

"I'm too old for stuffed-toys," Derek grumbles, and Stiles gasps, looking at Derek in dramatic horror.

"You can _never_ too old for stuffed-toys, Derek," Stiles shakes his head sadly. "Especially not when it comes to your _favourite_. I still have this floppy dog teddy from when I was a baby from my Babcia, apparently He was as big as me when I was born, and I chewed off an ear when I was teething, but he's still got a place on my bookcase, guarding my books from thieves even if he couldn't protect my t-shirts from the thieving hands of Peter."

Derek snorts as Stiles makes a show of looking sadly into the distance.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek chuckles, pulling Stiles’ stool closer so he can press a kiss to Stiles’ lips. “My ridiculous boyfriend.”

“Damn right,” Stiles perks up, sitting up a little straighter as Derek leans against him. “So, you gotta any plans today?”

Derek hums, taking a bite of his sandwich while he chews on it in thought.

Shaking his head he says, “Not really. I just wanted to spend it with you, maybe check a few emails and work on something with the clay you gave me.”

“Yeah? I’m happy you like the stuff I got for you. I was really unsure about it,” Stiles says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I like everything you give me, Stiles. The fact that you thought about such a gift makes me feel happy,” Derek smiles, “You’re such a thoughtful boyfriend.”

That should have made Stiles happy, should have made him smile and blush slightly, maybe go off into a ramble about how he hopes it'll help with therapy and all that, but Stiles gives this little grimace that immediately worries Derek and he's reminded abruptly of Stiles' mutter of being a bad boyfriend yesterday.

"I hope so," Stiles says softly, somewhat doubtfully, and Derek pulls away to look at Stiles properly.

"Why do you think you're a bad boyfriend?" Derek asks abruptly, and Stiles winces as he rubs the back of his neck again.

"I half-hoped I dreamt saying that out loud," Stiles admits somewhat sheepishly, and Derek just waits, staring at him, and Stiles slumps. "Despite spending so much time with you, and all the talking we have done, I realise I don't know the basics about you. Things as your boyfriend that I _should_ know."

Derek frowns at Stiles, not really understanding what he means, "But you are a good boyfriend, the best boyfriend."

"I don't even know what you want to do at college!" Stiles bursts out, surprising both of them. "Lydia saw your architecture books, and asked if that's what you are doing at college, and I didn't _know_ , hell, I didn't even _know_ about your interest in architecture.

I don't know your favourite colour, _or_ your favourite food, _or_ your favourite movie, _or_ what music you like listening to, or _anything_ like that. I only learnt your birthday last night, and I only know your favourite ice-cream because we've had ice-cream together a few times as you always get mint-chocolate."

Stiles almost pants, cringing as he realises just how worked up he had been about things that are _so_ simple, things that he should already _know_.

"I'm sorry," Stiles says as he closes his eyes, not wanting to see the look on Derek's face when he finishes digesting Stiles' word-vomit of an outburst. "I'm being stupid, I'm sorry."

“Stiles, you’re not a terrible boyfriend. We haven’t exactly had the best timing on talking about things we like,” Derek tells him, “I’ve been busy with things, you had school, Scott and magic practice. But we’ve got our whole lives to learn everything about one another.”

“You really want to spend your whole life...with me?” Stiles blinks, and then cracks a joke. “Are you sure you’re not going to get annoyed?”

“No. Never. You’re my mate, my Stiles. I’m always going to love you,” Derek cups Stiles’ face, smiling at his mate and pulling him into a kiss.

“ _Ugh_ , it’s like every time I come around the corner you're both being gross with one another,” Jackson says with fake disgust in his voice as he enters the kitchen.

“Shut up. You’re just jealous,” Derek smirks, pulling Stiles closer so he can rub his hands all over his mate.

Jackson rolls his eyes, not wanting to growl and prove his jerk of an older brother right, "Whatever, are you two coming back? We still have a lot of shit to go through before Peter's planning to start lunch, and I don't think I'm the only one that wants to get as much of this out of the way as possible."

"Yeah, I'll just clear this lot up," Stiles slips off the stool and out of Derek's arms with one last chaste kiss. "We should probably bring drinks in for the others."

"I'll look in the fridge," Derek says as he stands, grabbing the butter to put back in the fridge, as Stiles moves around the counter with their plates and Derek's glass.

Jackson helps Stiles, throwing away the empty package that the sliced ham had been in, tucking away the bread back into the bread-bin, and putting the crackers back into the cupboard as Stiles washes the plates, the knife he used and Derek's glass.

Lucky, Peter bought a balk of individual water-bottles, so Derek doesn't have to juggle glasses of water or juice up the stairs. Derek grabs everyone a bottle, throwing Jackson his before closing the fridge door with his foot.

Stiles takes three of the water-bottles off Derek, one for himself and the other two for Allison and Lydia, and the three of them head back upstairs and to the storage room.

* * *

"I thought you abandoned us to working without you," Lydia remarks dryly as she closes a box with some interesting tomes in that she thinks should go in Peter's library, or at least in one his bookcases.

"Just needed a quick break," Stiles says somewhat sheepishly as he holds out the two bottles of water for them, glancing over to where Derek had taken two of the three remaining bottles over to Peter and Chris.

The older men are standing closer together, working on the same box it seems like, and he watches how Chris curls an arm around Peter's waist as they each take a sip, the way Chris' fingers spread slightly across Peter's stomach, and feels a well of regret and sadness in him.

 _They should be able to have a baby if they want one, it's not fair that someone took that choice away from them,_ Stiles thinks to himself as he stares at the two men, the new sadness to their expressions. _I wish there is something I could do, some way I could fix it so they can have a baby. A little baby Peter/Chris, they'll probably have big blue eyes and be as cute as their older siblings._

Sighing, Stiles decides not to dwell on the horrible frustration the world has brought down on the two men.

He decides to focus on looking for Derek’s little toy, Arf, and wanting to reunite the two together.

Derek comes back over to him and helps at a slower pace, getting distracted when he finds a box full of old clothes. He sniffs a few of them and wrinkles his nose at the dust and bugs on them before setting them to the side.

Stiles ends up hitting the jackpot when he finds a box full of baby clothes, toys and—

“Yes!” Stiles holds up the stuffed animal wolf toy. “Derek, guess who I found!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek huffs, snatching the toy from his boyfriend’s hands.

“Aww, you’re so cute. I need a picture of this,” Stiles scrambled to pull out his phone.

Derek rolls his eyes at his boyfriend, and turns the toy in his hands.

Soft black fur worn a bit thin, blue-eyes, missing one ear, and careful stitching reattaching one of his hindlegs due to Cora accidentally ripping it off because she wanted to play with him and Derek didn't want to let her, Peter sewed it back on for him when he had gone to him in tears.

Yes, it's Arf.

He still smells faintly of Derek, somewhat of Peter, and smells more like lavender like the pouch he's noticed tucked into the box to fight off any musty or dusty smell, probably something Peter did as he thinks Stiles accidentally picked a box that predates the Vault boxes.

There's a click, a flash, and Stiles is cooing at his phone as Derek looks up.

"You two are so cute together," Stiles tells him as he taps at his phone. "I'm making this your contact photo."

Derek rolls his eyes as he moves closer to see the photo, not understanding why Stiles thinks the photo of Derek staring down at the black wolf in his hands is cute, but glad his averted gaze stopped the lens flare ruining the photo considering how happy it makes Stiles.

"That's not a box from the Vault," Peter calls over, sounding amused, and Stiles shrugs, not caring.

It's obviously Derek's baby things, and those things need to be carefully inspected and cooed at.

Especially those tiny little socks and mittens that once covered Derek's now big hands and large feet, Stiles thinks as he drops down to sit in front of the box and rummage through.

Derek gives a great sigh, like he's silently asking what he did to deserve this, but he sits down next to Stiles with their knees pressed together, and Arf is placed on his lap absently and not discarded off to the side which Stiles considers a win.

Yes, Arf is going to have a prime place in their den, and perhaps Stiles could move Doggo from his bookcase to their den, and Arf and Doggo can be friends.

“I know I’m too young to have kids, but holy shit baby clothes are so cute!” Stiles holds up an adorable dinosaur onesie. “This makes me want to have a baby so badly, uuuugh so _cute!_ ”

Derek’s face starts to grow fond as well as flustered at those words, and then the next thing out of Stiles’ mouth has him running in circles.

“Since Peter can get pregnant, does that mean I can get pregnant? Or you can get pregnant? Oh, that would be cool, I can carry one child and you can carry the other,” Stiles holds up another baby outfit, “But if we can’t, then we’re definitely adopting kids! Derek, how many kids do you want? I want at least four, and we need to adopt some because those kids need homes just as much as any kid.”

Peter holds back on his laughter as Derek’s scent grows from excited to aroused.

“Uh-um—“ he stutters trying to form words, ignoring the throbbing erection in his pants. “I’d like to have a lot of kids as well.”

"You didn't answer my questions," Stiles says, cooing as he pulls out a little hat.

"I-I can get pregnant," Derek finally says, swallowing thickly, clenching as he thinks of Stiles fucking him until he's pregnant, until he's round with _their_ pup. "I-I don't know if Sparks can get pregnant too."

Derek can feel his wolf urging him to present himself, to let mate mount him until he's _bred_ properly, and he blushes furiously at the primal desire makes his erection _worse._

Lydia shakes her head in disbelief, "Stiles doesn't know what he's doing at college, but he now knows that they want a lot of kids."

Jackson frowns thoughtfully, turning away from his box and looking at Peter, "Does this mean I can get pregnant?"

Peter blinks and blanks slightly as he stares at Jackson, "I....suppose....it depends if you are able to knot or not. If you can knot, then you could probably get pregnant."

"So, knots are real," Lydia taps a finger against her lip, glancing at Stiles with a smirk. "Now I understand what made you buy _that_ dildo."

Stiles blushes slightly as Chris pinches at his nose and Peter's eyebrow raises in question.

"No," Chris says sternly to his mate, making Peter pout while his eyes practically dance with laughter towards him. "I already know too much about the kids' sex lives, I don't want _or_ need to know more."

"You're such a prude," Peter rolls his eyes with a sigh. "You'll have to get over these silly sensibilities of yours, Christopher."

Peter steps closer to Chris, almost pressing against the older man, and lowers his voice to something seductive that makes Chris' jeans feel tight, "My wolf is very eager to take you in front of the Pack, show off just good my mate is for their Alpha, how much you _satisfy_ me."

Chris shudders, the bare inch of space between them not stopping him from feeling the heat coming off Peter, and he thinks of all of Peter's hot skin pressed against him, thinks of Peter pushing him down and just _taking_ him.

“I know that, pumpkin,” Chris reaches out and strokes up Peter’s side, teasing his fingers under Peter’s shirt so he can pet the hot skin under there. “But I don’t think I’m ready yet to try anything like that, I know werewolf culture is very different, but this is a little new for me. And I don’t think we should be jumping to things like that after everything you and Derek have been through.”

Peter scrunches his eyebrows at that, tilting his head to the side as his wolf deciphers what the man is telling him.

“I understand,” Peter nods his head, but his wolf is grumbling with confusion. His wolf wants to be mounted already by his mate, wants to sit on the man’s cock in front of everyone to show off who the Alpha’s mate is.

But if Chris says he’s not ready, then he won’t force it.

The older man smiles, leaning forward to peck Peter’s lips, “Don’t worry, love, I’ll make sure to ravish you in the privacy of our bedroom.”

“Ew,” Jackson huffs, Derek nodding his head in agreement.

Peter gives an eye roll , “Ungrateful brats, the lot of you.”

"We just don't want to think about our parents having sex, that's all," Allison says, open another cardboard box, and giving a choke as she sees it's filled with bearer bonds. " _Oh my god."_

Allison stares with wide eyes as she takes in how many bundles have been stacked into.

"Allison?" Stiles looks up with a frown, and Allison gives a strangled squeak which makes the other teens move over to her in concern. "What— _holy fuck!_ That's a _lot_ of money."

"Ah, you found my inheritance," Peter says calmly as he walks over and looks mildly into the box.

"How much is in here?" Lydia asks in a hushed voice, never having seen so much in a single place.

"Hmm, about $117 million, give or take a million or two," Peter shrugs in an unconcerned way that only the obscenely rich can do, and even Chris chokes at that.

"No fucking wonder your apartment is so fucking big," Jackson says in awe. "You're a multi-millionaire."

"This?" Peter shakes his head with a mildly amused smile. "This is just something my mother left me, just in case something happens secret inheritance."

Derek grimly wonders if his grandmother gave Peter a secret inheritance just in case he had to flee Robert, and wonders why Peter didn't use it and _run_ when he found out he was pregnant.

"A just in case inheritance?" Stiles almost wheezes in disbelief. "You mean this isn't the whole inheritance she left you? Who lives $117 million lying around?"

"I honestly forgot about it," Peter admits making almost everyone's gaze snap at him in disbelief. "Thank you for finding it, Allison."

"Y-you are welcome," Allison stutters as Peter casually folds the tabs back together and then throws it near the door like it isn't _one-hundred-and-seventeen-million-dollars_ in bearer bonds in it, and there's a collective wince from everyone _not_ Peter and Derek.

"Okay," Stiles says firmly as he turns to Derek and points his finger into a startled Derek's chest. "With that type of money just collecting dust, there's no _fucking_ reason why it's acceptable for you to wear clothes that are _two-sizes_ too small, Derek!"

The werewolf startles at those words, and then glares at his mate.

“It’s not like I was aware he had that much on the side,” Derek tries to argue, but Peter just gives him a raised eyebrow.

“Der, my pup, I know both you and Laura had an inheritance half that size. Don’t try and play that card on us, you know you’ll only lose.”

Pouting, Derek leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, still trying to appear like he’s angry, but it falls flat when Stiles makes a little snort and kisses his cheek.

“I guess that means we’re gonna have to go clothes shopping again. Huh, Der?” Stiles leans against his boyfriend.

“I’m a grown man, I can shop for myself,” he argues.

“Oh? Then you better start doing it or I’m going to sick Peter _and_ Lydia on you.”

"Derek's not the only one that needs more clothes," Peter remarks as he gives Stiles a look. "We barely got enough to cover the rest of the month."

"Next weekend is the last of the month basically," Stiles points out, and Peter looks at him gravely.

"Exactly," he tells Stiles before clapping his hands. "Pack shopping trip next weekend."

"A shopping trip to cloth Stiles in clothing that will suit his body _and_ with no budget to speak of?" Lydia asks, smirking. "Count me in."

"I can get stuff for my room," Allison says excitedly, before checking with Derek. "If you're still okay with me taking that room?"

"I said I was," Derek smiles at her while Stiles realises just what he's signed them up for. "I also said I would help you with it."

Allison beams with the full-force of her smile, the smile that tricks people into thinking she's just a Disney Princess, and stops them from looking for the evil genius lurking underneath that sweet smile.

Peter smiles before glancing around the room, "I think this is enough for now, I want to get lunch started, and I'm certain that you will want to clean up or relax while I'm cooking."

"Jackson," Lydia's stern voice snaps out, and Jackson immediately straightens. "That box of books there needs to go to the library, I'm borrowing that box _there_ for a while, so, Stiles, you can carry it for me. Derek, can you close up the boxes? We should really mark the ones we've already gone through."

"I'll get a pen," Allison says brightly, leaving before Lydia could order her to do something else.

Jackson sighs, glancing at the photo-album and remembering where it is, before going over and grabbing the box that Lydia pointed out.

Peter snickers, seeing Lydia has everyone well in hand, and leaves to start on lunch—and maybe Derek's Death by Chocolate Cupcakes—and Chris is on his heels.

Stiles gives a giant sigh, kissing Derek's cheek before going to grab the box Lydia pointed out with a grunt.

"Where too?" he asks, and Lydia frowns.

Stiles ends up being Lydia’s pack mule for half an hour, grumbling and following her as she has him carry boxes after boxes of books.

* * *

When they finish he simpers up to Derek, who’s sitting on the couch with his laptop, and curls up against his boyfriend’s side.

“I’m tired. Lydia is cruel,” Stiles whines as he leans against Derek.

His boyfriend snorting, and turning his head to press a kiss to Stiles’ forehead before going back to his emails.

“What are you looking at?” Stiles nuzzles against Derek’s shoulder which has the man smiling.

“I’m just checking my emails. I’m waiting for any emails back from the colleges I signed up for,” Stiles makes a noise in interest.

“Get anything back yet?”

Shaking his head, Derek says, “No not yet. But it’s the middle of the school year so I probably won’t get anything until later.”

"Suppose it gives you time to get everything from your previous college," Stiles hums slightly, thinking he could happily dose against Derek's warm and surprisingly comfortable shoulder when Jackson flops down beside him, the photo-album placed gently on the coffee-table.

"You've been hogging him again," Jackson tells Derek with a scowl, pulling Stiles to him, and Stiles just lies against Jackson with a sigh.

Derek bites back a growl, scowling at his brother, but saying nothing as Stiles pulls his legs up and tucks his toes under Derek's thigh.

The touch of his mate, despite being limited, calms his wolf enough that Derek can focus back on his laptop.

Or at least he would be able to if the photo-album wasn't in his eye of sight.

"Can you tell me about the people in the more recent photos?" Jackson asks somewhat hopefully.

Derek wants to say no, wants to say he can't, but how could he deny the hopeful look in Jackson's eyes?

"Sure," Derek says against his better judgement, and Stiles grumbles as he's jostled by Jackson leaning forward to grab the photo-album with almost visible eagerness.

There's a lot of shifting until Stiles somehow ends up sitting basically in both of their laps with the photo-album being spread out on his, so everyone could see the photos.

Derek makes a point in starting _far_ away from the wedding photos of Talia and Robert, starting with the wedding photos of his grandmother and grandfather.

"This is Sylvia Hale, my—our grandmother," Derek points out to the slim and tall woman with a short 1960's hairstyle and a simple white dress that ended just above her knees as a wedding dress.

There's a sassiness to the curl of her lips that reminds Stiles strongly of Peter, and he can totally see her as Peter's mother.

"This is our grandfather," Derek points to the tall and somewhat no nonsense looking man, "before his marriage to Grandma, he was Edmond Johnson, but he took Grandma's name when he married into the Hale Pack."

Edmond Hale, formerly Johnson, as Peter's father? Not so much.

“God, those are some old people's names,” Stiles snorts, flipping to the next page where there’s a bunch more family photos, some with older relatives and some new faces.

“Aren’t you named after your grandfather?” Peter comments from the kitchen, smirking when he feels Stiles’ glare on his back.

“That’s beside the point! Edmond is like _so_ old. That’s like a name in some fantasy book about four kids who live in England,” Stiles argues back.

“Sure, whatever you say Miec—“

“Don’t you dare!”

“Wait,” Jackson perks up, sitting up straight as excitement gleams in his eyes. “You know what Stiles’ birth name is?”

“I was there right after he was born, of course I know his birth name. And how to pronounce is,” Peter says smugly, pulling the attention of all the teenagers in the room.

“Mind sharing with us? I’ve been trying to get him to tell me what it is forever, and he won’t crack,” Lydia leans against the counter, a sly smirk on her face.

“No. Nope. Nada. Na-ah. Peter, you are not allowed to say it. That is sacred knowledge!” Stiles tells the man.

"You don't know Stiles' birth name?" Allison asks Jackson with some disbelief as she leans against the archway separating the living room and kitchen. "You _grew up_ with him."

"Before he took the name Stiles, he called himself Mischief," Jackson shrugs, still looking expectantly at Peter. "I thought _no one_ , but the Sheriff and Stiles knew his birth name."

"Mischief?" Derek repeats, sounding slightly amused as he decides the name fits Stiles.

"You shouldn't hide things from your Pack, Stiles," Peter clicks his tongue, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"I will _always_ hide this from _everyone_ ," Stiles says firmly, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. "There's no need for anyone to _ever_ know, I'm Stiles to everyone. Who cares about some name I may have been assigned at birth? A name that shouldn't be pronounced? A name that can't be pronounced by anyone who doesn't _know_ Polish."

"So, your name is Polish and starts with Miec," Lydia muses, pitching her voice so Stiles can hear, and Stiles makes a strangled noise.

"You know she's going to find out one way or another," Jackson nudges at Stiles. "Make it easier for yourself and tell us."

"This is blackmail!" Stiles protests, glaring at everyone, apart from Derek as he wasn't part of this _plot_ , and then he slumps with a whine.

Lydia moves to stand in the archway, sensing victory for her and defeat for Stiles.

Peter smirks to himself, eyes on his cooking while his hearing is tuned to the teenagers behind him.

"Mieczysław," Stiles finally says, reluctantly saying it loud enough for human hearing to hear. "I'm Mieczysław Genim Stilinski."

Jackson snorts and Stiles lunges at him, Derek grabbing the photo-album before it can hit the floor, and Stiles straddles Jackson's lap and tries to smother the laughing werewolf with a throw-pillow.

"Oh _my_ god, I can see why you never told anyone!" Jackson laughs, easily fending off Stiles' attacks.

“I hate you! Stop! Stop laughing!” Stiles yells, showing the pillow harder into the woods face.

“How do you even spell that!?” Jackson hollers.

Hitting him with the pillow, Stiles huffs and gets off of Jackson who’s still on the ground laughing. Slumping against the couch, Stiles ignores his friend as the blonde tries to talk to him.

“Aw, come on, Stiles. You know I didn’t mean anything by it,” Jackson says, chuckling a little.

“No. You’re the worst,” Stiles crosses his arms.

“Okay, whatever you say, Mitchy-slaw.”

Yelling, Stiles hits Jackson again with the pillow in his hand while the blonde starts rolling over with laughter.

Peter watches them mess around in the living room, a smile on his lips as he sees his pups wrestling.

Jackson laughs as he pins Stiles underneath him, one hand pinning Stiles' stupidly thin wrists as Stiles tries to threateningly move the pillow despite his wrists being pinned, and Jackson is straddling Stiles' waist.

"You are the _worst_ ," Stiles tells him as Jackson looks down at him with a grin.

"Come on, you know you would have done the same if I had a name like _that_ ," Jackson chuckles, taking in Stiles' angry flush turning Stiles' fair skin a bright pink, and his chuckles die down slightly.

"You are still the _worst_ ," Stiles says, squirming under him, and Jackson slams his eyes shut as he tries to keep hold of himself.

He just has to slide back a few inches, place his ass over Stiles' crotch, and he'd be able to grind down, to _feel_ Stiles against him for the first and last time before Derek tries to rip his throat out with his teeth.

Jackson senses Derek's leg kicking out, to get him off Stiles, and he doesn't even bother to try and evade it, it's probably best to get him off the subject of temptation before he does something he shouldn't do with his brother's mate.

Jackson moves with the kick, flopping on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

"I deserved that," Jackson acknowledges as Derek moves to pull Stiles up, and tucks his mate against him.

"Damn right," Derek grumbles, the scent of his brother's arousal lingering, and Derek tugs Stiles closer until the younger teen is in his lap, and Derek can nuzzle and touch to erase _any_ traces of Jackson's arousal on Stiles.

"I feel like I've missed something," Stiles admits as he leans back against Derek's chest, and lets his boyfriend rub his hands _all_ over him while Jackson slowly sits up.

"I think I know what you missed," Lydia says with a smirk as she tugs Allison over to the couch, Lydia lounging against the armrest with Allison curled up next to her, and Lydia watches with amused eyes as Jackson has to reach down and adjust himself earning him a growl from Derek.

“Chill, Kujo. I’m backing off,” Jackson growls, settling back on the couch where Stiles was sitting before.

“So, photo album?” Stiles tries to change the subject.

Derek rumbles next to him, nuzzling his face against Stiles’ throat while Jackson pouts next to him.

Sighing, he moves so Stiles can sit between them both and Jackson immediately curls against Stiles’ side, grinning and nuzzling Stiles’ arm.

“You’re both so weird,” Stiles huffs, opening the photo album again to look through the pictures.

Stiles opens it back to the wedding photos starring Edmond and Sylvia Hale, still in disbelief that the no nonsense looking man is somehow Peter's father.

"Is he wearing a military uniform?" Stiles asks with a frown, and Derek nods.

"Granddad was in the Korean War," Derek tells them, then he points out a man in the wedding party. "That's Arthur Winslow, he was the one that bit Granddad after he was injured in Korea. They went on to win several medals, save platoons and got the nickname the 'Wolves' for how they would hunt down missing soldiers and enemy combats."

"Huh, that's kind of neat," Stiles says as he spies the rather short looking man in military uniform standing at Edmond's shoulder though he grimaces as he thinks of Peter having a soldier for a father.

Somehow he didn't think Peter, the drama kid, was the son a soldier would understand.

"Korean War?" Lydia asks in interest, leaning forward. "Was he older than your grandmother? Or did they marry rather late for their time?"

"Granddad was about a decade older than Grandma," Derek says with a nod. "Grandma met him when she was twenty or twenty-one? I know they married after she turned twenty-two as it took that long for Great-Granddad to approve of the man that wanted to marry his only daughter and the future Alpha of the Hale Pack, despite the fact that they were mates."

Derek points out his Great-Granddad, a man that's only about the height of his daughter, maybe an inch or two taller, and with his hand on Sylvia's shoulder.

Stiles expected him to look stern since it took almost two years for decorated soldier Edmond Hale, formerly Johnson, to win his approval. But said Great-Granddad looked all smug smirks, now _that_ smirk was Peter's smirk.

"How is the next Alpha chosen?" Stiles asks curiously, because if Sylvia had been the _only_ daughter then that meant there were sons too.

"It normally goes to the eldest child of the previous Alpha, but sometimes another acts more like an Alpha."

“So is it like, the one with more leadership awards. Or?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, trying to understand what Derek is telling him.

“No, not like that. An Alpha is...someone who cares for the whole pack, they look out for them, lead and take care of the sick. It’s like a gene that gets passed down, like how sometimes there can be a person born with blue eyes in your family whereas their parents only have brown eyes,” Derek explains.

“That’s pretty cool,” Stiles flips further the next pages, a smile breaking on his face. “Peter! Is this you as a baby?”

Peter walks over to the couch and looks over Stiles’ shoulder, and yup. It was a baby picture of himself.

“You’re so cute,” Stiles coos.

“I’m starting to get the idea that Stiles just likes babies in general,” Jackson snorts, but can’t help but stare at the baby and toddler photos of his mother.

"I can't help it," Stiles protests, looking at the photos of baby Peter either in Sylvia's arms or propped on her hip, gummy smile wide, as Sylvia looks at him with adoration. "Babies are _cute_."

"You're going to be one of those parents that take like a dozen photos of their babies, aren't you?" Lydia muses, and Stiles shrugs with a sheepish grin.

"Probably," Stiles agrees, and Derek snorts, ducking his head down to nuzzle against his mate.

Jackson frowns slightly, noticing that there are few photos of Edmond holding Peter while there are a lot more photos of Edmond with a child that Jackson suspects is Talia.

"Your sister was a lot older than you, wasn't she?" Jackson asks, glancing up, and Peter's face blanks slightly as he takes in one of the photos of Edmond and Talia.

"Talia was nine when I was born," Peter admits, a complicated feeling rising in him at the sight of his father's proud smile towards Talia as she holds up an impressive fish from one of their fishing trips to the lake out in the Preserve. "I was an unexpected addition to the family."

"Was Talia your only sibling?" Allison asks curiously, biting her lip as she hopes that she hasn't upset Peter with her question.

“Yes. After me, our parents decided they had enough kids, and stopped with us. But we did have a big family in general, lots of cousins and uncles and aunts,” Peter shrugs, straightening up as he turns and leaves them with the photo album.

“That’s cool,” Stiles flips the page, cooing when he sees a photo of a younger Peter who has just discovered what paint was and made an absolute mess. “Oh my god, I love babies.”

Derek has to hold himself back because hearing those words from his mate makes him flush. He doesn’t know why a part of him finds relief in the fact that Stiles loves kids and _wants_ to have some with Derek.

He tries not to think about a future life with Stiles, holds back on thinking about kids and babies. And his mate being older, maybe graduated from college and working at a full time job while Derek stays home with the kids.

Turning his head to smile at Derek, Stiles leans forward to press a kiss to his mate’s cheek, startling Derek out of his daydream.

“So when do we get to the baby photos of Derek?” Jackson asks, flipping a couple of pages.

“No. We are not—“

“Oh, we absolutely are. Derek, you don’t understand how cute you are! I love the little chubby cheek baby you were,” Stiles starts flipping frantically trying to find more photos of baby Derek.

Derek groans slightly, not wanting to listen to Jackson mock his baby photos while Stiles coos at him.

But then he realises something with an almost sickening lurch of his stomach as Stiles stops on the first baby photo with Derek's cute chubby cheeks in it, and Derek stares blankly at the photo of Robert Hale holding his new-born son with a proud and loving look on his face.

"Th—" Stiles cuts himself off, staring at the same photo and grimacing.

"It's the official photo-album," Derek says almost robotically, unable to look anywhere that isn't another photo of Robert holding him with _that_ expression on his face. "Talia or m-my dad would have put the photos in there."

Derek remembers the box upstairs, filled with loose photos of Derek alone or with Laura, or the few candid shots of Peter with him. Photos ranging from when Derek is a baby to a toddler and upwards, photos that he now realises that Peter probably painstakingly collected for himself.

Peter's back stiffens in the kitchen at the sentence, and his next chop is slightly harder against the chopping-board.

He wants to go back into the living room, wants to snatch the album away and lock it away somewhere where Peter will _never_ have to gaze on _his_ face again.

Peter grits his teeth, resisting the urge because he used to love sitting on his mother's lap as they went through the photo-album, of his mother's voice telling him about the history those photos show only a snapshot of, and he's not going to let _Robert_ ruin everything good for him.

It's Jackson that breaks them from their stupor, flicking the pages _away_ from Robert Hale, and then stopping on a different page.

Derek's breath catches in his throat as he stares down at the page, almost unable to believe his eyes as he takes the photo in almost hungrily.

There's Peter, young and unburned, and he's cradling Derek as a toddler to his chest with his lips to Derek's hair, and there's something unmistakably loving to his expression.

Derek feels his heart leap into his throat as he stares at the photo of his mom holding him. Reaching out he touches the photo, hesitating for a moment like he’s afraid the photo will turn to ash when he touches it.

“This is so cute,” Stiles says in awe.

“Yeah...” Derek keeps staring at the photo.

His next actions are a little rash as he pulls the photo out, ignoring the questioning noise from Stiles as he watches Derek put the photo in his wallet.

“For a keepsake,” Derek comments, flipping to the next page in the book.

Stiles takes Derek’s hand in his and gives it a squeeze, while they look through some more photos.

Derek points out cousins, aunts and uncles, telling their names in a quiet voice, and Jackson listens with eager eyes as he takes in the unfamiliar and yet familiar faces.

There's his eyes, the arch of his cheekbones, there's his nose.

Stiles rests his head against Derek's shoulder as his boyfriend talks, stroking Derek's knuckles with his thumb.

Allison silently hands Lydia her book from last night, and she stretches out until her legs are over Jackson's lap and Allison rests against Lydia with a blush, so she can also read the book.

Lydia ignores the flutter of her heart, the look Jackson shoots her says the werewolves heard, and acts casual as she wraps an arm around Allison's shoulders as she flicks open the book to where the bookmark was to continue reading about the descendants of those with Fae blood.

Depending by the Fae in question, sometimes only the female descendants or the male ones will show powers from their Fae ancestor, and there's normally a physical trait in common with those that show the strength of the Fae blood in them, an early warning sign as it were for those that could come into their Fae ancestor's powers.

The physical trait could be as distinct as a birthmark or something as seemingly common as eye colour or hair colour, which is slightly annoying as it made it hard to narrow down if it's just genetics at work or a sign of Fae blood.

Lydia supposes it makes it easier for the descendants to blend in with everyone else if their physical trait isn't as obvious as pointed ears or some weird hair/eye colour, but it also makes it harder for Lydia to try and narrow down what she is.

She places a marker in the page for later as she continues to read through the books.

“Alright my lovely pups, lunch is finished,” Peter calls, wiping his hands off with a towel as he enters the living room.

“Already?” Stiles perks up, rubbing at his stomach, “Great, because I’m starving.”

Derek grins as his mate rubs at his stomach, and Jackson huffs a laugh.

“You’re always hungry,” Jackson laughs, earning a swipe from Stiles.

"I will not hear anything about my appetite from _werewolves_ ," Stiles informs Jackson with something like wounded dignity and a huff as he stands up with a stretch.

Derek snorts as he closes the album and places it on the coffee-table as he stands to follow after his mate.

Lydia closes her book with a snap after putting the bookmark in, and slides it beside the album on the coffee-table.

Peter smiles slightly as he watches his pups, his Pack, stretch out their bodies before they turn to follow him back to the kitchen where Chris has finished setting the table, just leaving Peter to dish up the food.

Chris gives a slight smile to Peter, and moves to grab a jug of water and pour it into the glasses he already set up for everyone.

Peter makes sure to squeeze Chris' arm as he passes to where he left the Asian chicken salad, grabbing the large bowl he filled it with and turns to the table where the rest of the Pack has slipped into their chairs.

"Asian chicken salad with homemade dressing if you wish to add any," Peter announces as he gestures to the plain bottles of salad dressing before Peter places down the large wooden bowl.

"Jesus," Stiles almost gapes at the size of Peter's salad bowl. "You could feel the whole Lacrosse team with that bowl."

"Or three werewolves, three hungry teenagers and one old man," Peter jokes making Chris roll his eyes as he places the half-empty jug of water on one of the wooden plate-coasters or whatever they are called that Peter made a point of pointing out and remarking they are _very_ useful to keeping stains off the wood table.

"I'm not _that_ old," Chris reminds Peter once again as he slips into the chair beside his mate's empty chair as Peter dishes up the chicken salad on everyone's plate, heaping it on to Jackson, Derek's and his own plates.

"You'll be forty-one this year, love," Peter reminds him with a smirk. "That's _old_."

"You're slowly catching up to me in years," Chris reminds his mate pointedly.

Peter scoffs, “Please, my hair isn’t going to start turning grey until I let it. I’ll be looking like a handsome sugar baby next to his greying sugar daddy for a very long time. It’s okay, Christopher, I’ll still love you even if you need to take Viagra.”

Stiles dies with laughter, almost falling out of his chair only to be held up by Derek when he holds his arm out to keep Stiles sitting up straight.

Jackson isn’t far off along with Lydia and Allison, Allison is a little more hesitant to laugh but the look on her dad’s face is just too funny. They sound like a pack of hyenas in the kitchen.

“Cute,” Chris growls, trying not to let Peter slide with his comment as the werewolf drapes his arms around Chris’s shoulders.

“Mmmh, my handsome old man. Don’t frown so much, baby, you’ll start to wrinkle. It’s okay, I know some good remedies for that,” Peter smirks and presses a kiss to Chris’s lips before taking a seat at the table.

The older man grumbles under his breath as he sits down next to Peter, jumping when a hand immediately places itself over his crotch.

He glares at the Alpha, but Peter is a little minx and simply gives him a wink and a squeeze of his hand before starting to eat his salad.

Peter, of course, doesn't remove his hand completely, just moves it to rest comfortably on Chris' upper thigh in a way that's still teasingly close to Chris' crotch.

"You tease," Chris mutters under his breath as he picks up his cutlery, and Peter just smirks.

Derek rolls his eyes at his mother as he steadies Stiles and nudges him to eat.

Stiles has to wipe tears from his eyes before he can eat, a grin feeling permanent on his face, and he wants to raise his glass to Peter because _that_ had been what they all needed considering the emotions going through the boxes and invoked in them.

Stiles still wishes he could do something for Peter, but realistically, Stiles is hit and miss with his magic with something as basic as levitating and attempting to light a candle.

He either overpowers it and does something completely unexpected like setting the couch on fire, or getting stuck on the ceiling, or levitating Derek off the couch, or he's stuck staring/glaring at the unlit candle or pieces of fruit that stubbornly refuses to bend to his will/magic.

So yeah, magically healing Peter is realistically far into the future, and he'd probably need to figure out just _what_ happened beyond Derek's terse and simple explanation of Peter being _fixed_ —which invokes all sorts of very angry emotions in Stiles.

It also makes Stiles really curious about _how_ exactly male werewolves get pregnant, because it can't just be magic or it wouldn't be limited to _just_ born werewolves, so there has to be a biological component that makes it possible.

But surely _someone_ would notice at some point that these guys have a womb, right? Or is it some sort of trigger that magics the womb into being?

"Eat," Derek reminds his thoughtfully frowning mate, and Stiles absently grabs his cutlery and begins to cut into one of the bits of chicken, adding bits of the salad leaves and stuff to his fork before putting it into his mouth and chewing as he thinks.

Derek’s pretty sure Stiles would have missed so many meals and got little to no sleep if it weren’t for him reminding his mate to do so. He was perfectly happy taking care of Stiles, it helped calm some part of him that wanted to care for and cuddle his mate.

Sitting there for a moment, Derek just watches Stiles enjoy his food before starting on his own, won’t do his mate any good if he hasn’t eaten anything.

They still have a whole day and a half ahead of them until the full moon tomorrow, and Derek wants to spend as much time as he can with Stiles. As well as Jackson and Allison, since they’re both his newly made/found siblings.

It’s almost exciting and yet at the same time nerve wracking that he has siblings again.

Laura will always be his older sister and Cora his little sister, but growing up there had always been a definite line between them that kept Derek apart from the family.

For the longest time he had thought it was because he was a boy but now he knows it’s really because he’s a bastard child.

And you know what?

He wouldn’t change it, he loves his mother, loves how hardworking Peter is and is trying to do his best.

And he also...he loves Stiles. He feels like before Stiles, life was just a black blur and he was fading into nothing. But now he feels like there’s something finally keeping him sane, keeping him anchor to the _now_.

And not continuing to drown in his guilt and grief, in memories of Before, of punishing himself in the only ways he knew how.

Laura's dead, and it _hurts_.

It hurts that his sister, his Alpha of six years, is just gone, that she's _dead_ and not coming back. And Derek hasn't forgotten her, he still grieves for her, but he's also angry with her.

He _told_ her not to come back, he _begged_ to come with her, and she didn't listen, wouldn't let, and then she didn't fight to get back to him, didn't fight and pull Peter back into their Pack, didn't allow the chance of Derek having both his sister and his mother.

It's a useless feeling, a feeling that makes him feel guilty because Laura's _dead_ and he shouldn't feel angry at her for dying, but he is, and he does.

The reason he had been able to forgive Peter long before finding out that the older man is his mother, is because he knew that Peter hadn't meant to kill Laura, that it had been an accident, and that it hadn't been Peter that cut her in half and left her to be feasted on before she could be found— _that_ had been the Hunters living on their land like they had a right.

Part of him feels guilty that he's able to be so happy, able to get _better_ when Laura's dead, but he can't change things, no matter how much he wishes, and he _knows_ he's doing things that Laura wished him to do, and Laura would be happy because she _loved_ him.

He has an Alpha, he has _his_ Alpha-mother, and Peter loves him, loves him despite everything and how Derek came to be.

He has a mate, he has _his_ mate, and Stiles accepts him, supports him, wants him, and is planning a future with him.

He has a brother, he has _his_ brother, and Jackson is annoying like little siblings always are, but Derek thinks Jackson still loves him, wants to get to know him.

He has two more sisters, one lost and newly found, and Allison loves him, accepts him as her brother without reserve, and Malia _will_ be found, has to be found.

“You okay?” Stiles bumps his shoulder with Derek’s pulling the man out of his thoughts.

“Yeah...I just got lost in my head, sorry,” Derek picks up his fork again, taking a mouthful of the chicken salad and enjoying the fresh taste of it all.

“Okay,” Stiles says, holding back on asking too many questions.

If Derek wanted to tell him what he was thinking about, he would have.

* * *

When they finish lunch Stiles volunteers to work on the dishes, so Derek takes time to go back to the living room and check on his emails.

Peter settles on the loveseat with his own laptop, working on something’s for the Pack; missing person information, the bank accounts and trying to collect the ownership of the Hale house again since the city has decided to leave the place as a standing health hazard.

Jackson messes on his phone while Lydia keeps looking through the books Peter has lent to her and Allison reads some on Pack history.

"So," Chris says as he takes the wet and clean dish from Stiles to dry. "Was coming out better or worse than you thought it would be?"

Stiles gives Chris a bit of side-eye, "Not mad that I lied about being gay?"

"I put you in a tricky position," Chris shrugs as he puts the first plate away in the cupboard. "And from what Peter told me about the talks you have been having, you weren't completely lying."

Stiles snorts as he shakes his head and hands over the next plate, "Fair, I still can't believe that I didn't really I lean more to the gay end of the bisexual scale then a strict middle."

"Sometimes the most obvious things need to be pointed out by someone else," Chris says softly as he dries the plate, thinking of the knowledge of being his mate and how blindly obvious Peter had been without saying it words. "You didn't answer my question."

Stiles is silent for a moment as he pretends to scrub at an invisible stubborn spot before he eventually replies, "Better."

Chris nods, thankfully not asking how worse Stiles had expected it to be.

Stiles glances at Chris, biting his lip, and wondering if he really wants to know how it went when Chris came out.

 _Bad_ , Stiles knows, and decides he doesn't want to poke at old wounds just to satisfy his curiosity.

"I didn't get the chance to come out on my terms," Chris offers softly, making Stiles still. "It probably wouldn't have changed much, but I think maybe it could have saved a life if I came out instead."

Chris thinks of Nicolai, of how sweet he had been, of bright-blue eyes and the feel of nervous lips under his own, and he wonders what Nicolai would have grown up to become if they hadn't been caught.

"You don't have to tell me," Stiles says softly, trying to get back into the motions of washing the dish in his hands.

"I know," Chris says with a sigh before smiling slightly at Stiles. "It's just that I want you to know how much I mean it when I say I'm glad it went so well for you."

“My first boyfriend...he was sweet, and we were both young and thought it would last. Except my father thought otherwise,” Chris goes on to explain, “When he caught us, he took me inside and then beat me until I was bloody and bruised all over. After that, I never saw Nicolai ever again, his family moved away by the end of the week. And that was only the beginning of the torture my father put me through.”

“Jesus,” Stiles hisses through his teeth, “I guess that kind of explains a lot of the ways you acted. You were scared, weren’t you?”

Nodding his head, Chris puts away another plate, “I didn’t want Peter to end up like another Nicolai, that’s why I was so paranoid when we were together. Why I kept saying we needed to be somewhere very private. Not that it mattered in the end because he got hurt more than me.”

“I’m starting to get the feeling your whole family either needs to be in a psych ward or six feet in the ground,” Stiles comments, cringing a little at his attempt in humor. “I’m just glad you and Allison were able to escape before anything worse could have happened.”

“Me too. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, or seen her happier as well,” Chris frowns a little at the statement, but can only accept it as the truth.

Victoria had set rules for their daughter; no more toys, read your books, no talking during dinner, no movie nights.

She had loathed each time Allison wanted to hang out with her friends instead of studying, and Chris had to argue with the woman on many occasions.

He didn’t want to throw Allison head first into the world of Hunters like Victoria had.

He wanted her to have a normal childhood and a choice, unlike him.

Chris places the plate into the cupboard and takes the third plate from Stiles' hands to dry.

"That's a good thing, right?" Stiles asks as he continues to wash the plates. "That you are both happy?"

"Yeah," Chris replies as he dries the plate in his hands. "It's....just made me reassess certain things."

Like how quietly unhappy Allison must have been under the strict rules of Victoria, like how he missed Allison's unhappiness or that she realised something had been so wrong about his marriage.

Chris wonders how long she's been waiting for Chris or Victoria to say they were getting a divorce, and part of him wonders if Allison would have still chosen to come with him if she hadn't known about Victoria and Kate's crimes.

"It wasn't your fault," Stiles says, starling Chris out of his thoughts, and Stiles stares at him firmly and thoughtfully. "What happened to Nicolai? It's not your fault, nor is what happened to Peter or Derek or you, it was your dad's fault, it was, well, a lot of people's fault for Peter, it was Kate's fault, and again your dad, Kate _and_ Victoria's fault for what happened to you. You didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"But it still happened," Chris says grimly, looking down at the plate in his hand and gently putting it into the cupboard. "And it feels like my fault."

"And Derek thinks it's his fault, and Peter probably blames himself too for some things," Stiles shakes his head. "But it's not, and perhaps you should do what Peter and Derek are doing, get therapy. God knows you'd need it just for your dad's actions as a homophobic asshole."

Chris blinks before scrubbing a hand over his face and leaning against the counter.

"Therapy has never been something my family did," Chris admits, feeling slightly ridiculous for speaking about this with a seventeen-year-old kid. "Therapy was for.... _other_ people, not an Argent."

"That's bullshit," Stiles tells him firmly. "And I think that's more reason for you to have therapy."

Listening to the teenager’s words, Chris nods his head, “Peter and Derek are already seeing a therapist, I might as well see one too.”

“And if Allison needs one, I’m sure we can help find her one. Everyone deserves to live a better life...well, except for some people,” Stiles leaves it off with that, finishing the last of the dishes with Chris before going to the living room so he can chill with his boyfriend.

“Hey,” Stiles smirks, bundling up against Derek’s side like a puppy.

“Hey,” Derek closes the book he started reading to give his mate some attention. “You got any plans for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Probably just practicing my magic some more, and spending time with the Pack,” Stiles smiles, leaning up to kiss Derek.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you do much magic,” Derek pulls Stiles a little closer.

“Oh? Then I guess I’ll have to change that, huh?”

Derek hums in agreement and ducks his head again to kiss him, and Stiles reaches up to cup Derek's jaw as the older teen deeps the kiss slightly.

"Urgh," Jackson makes a disgusted noise as he glances up to see his brother kissing Stiles, the couples pulling away with Derek scowling at Jackson and Stiles grumbling. "Seriously? _Again_?"

"They are being quite tame for a newly mated couple," Peter says as Chris slumps down beside him on the loveseat. "I suppose it's because they haven't yet completed the bond with the Bite and penetrative sex."

"Dude!" Stiles protests with a blush. "You can't just out where we are in our sex lives!"

"Humans and their silly sense of shame," Peter clicks his tongue as he shakes his head. "It's perfectly natural to have sex, and it's more than natural for Pack members to have sex in front of other Pack members."

"So, it'd be perfectly normal for me to push Jackson down and fuck his needy ass with my strap-on?" Lydia asks innocently, smirking slightly at the way Chris chokes and blushes while Jackson immediately protests.

"I do _not_ have a needy ass!"

"Really? Because the way you were straddling Stiles earlier says otherwise," Lydia points out, and Stiles almost chokes as he whips his head to gape at Jackson.

" _That's_ what I missed?" Stiles asks incredulously. "You were thinking about me fucking you?"

"To be honest," Jackson leans back and crosses his legs in a smug manner that is trademark Peter Hale, "I think about you fucking me a _lot_."

Derek growls, pulling Stiles closer to his side, and Allison giggles.

"Why is sex brought up so much with you lot?" Chris asks as he pinches his nose.

"We're teenagers," Lydia shrugs, "we're meant to be horny and sex-crazy."

Peter cackles with laughter at that, pulling Chris down to sit with him again, “It’s okay, Christopher. I still love you, my sweet old man.”

“Charming,” Chris huffs, leaning back against the couch with his arms crossed while Peter kisses his cheek.

“I didn’t know Banshees were a part of Fae lore,” Lydia comments, sitting up a little as she flips to the next page in the book.

“I thought they were Slavic lore, or European,” Stiles tilts his head to the side, trying to remember what all those fantasy video games he played had taught him about Banshees.

Sure they were video games, but they definitely had _some truth_ to them. Even if it was shoved in with a bunch of other things.

"Gaelic," Derek corrects almost absently, and Stiles turns to look at him.

"You know how hot I find your nerdy side, right?" Stiles asks him, making Derek blush slightly as he ducks his head, and Jackson rolls his eyes.

"Yes," Peter answers Lydia. "Banshees, also known as Bean Sidhe and Ban Sith, translating loosely into Woman of the Fairies or the Woman of the Fairy Mound, are part of Fae lore. They are mostly women, considered daughters of the Celtic Goddess Morrigan, really one of the High Fae."

"Okay, what's a Banshee?" Allison asks curiously.

"Err, I can't remember about folklore and myth Banshee, but I _could_ regale you with the Banshees from the Fable universe," Stiles says with a sheepish grin.

"Somehow I doubt a video game will be much help," Jackson scoffs, making Stiles pout.

"In folklore, a Banshee is a wailing woman that foretells the death of something, often from one of the oldest noble houses," Peter closes his laptop slightly, as he lectures the Pack. "They were considered omens of death, and there have been tales of them for the last thousand years, though the last story of a normal human seeing a Banshee was in 1948.

This is, of course, all human folklore and not the truth that the Supernatural world has put together with actual interaction with real Banshees.

Banshees _are_ connected to death, and they do scream or 'wail' when someone dies, but it's usually due to the death being supernatural in nature. They are rumoured to have several powers like precognition, a piercing or sonic scream, the ability to sense and hear the dead, be they recently deceased or lingering spirits, and such."

"Like hearing something that no one else hears that leads to a dead body?" Lydia asks somewhat dryly, hands tightening around her book.

Peter nods his head, “Do you think that might be what you are? A banshee?”

“I don’t know, it’s hard to say right now but there’s a possibility I could be. But I don’t want to jump to conclusions so early,” Lydia tries to say but Peter stops her.

“Lydia, you heard the voices calling to you, they were trying to show you where the body was. To warn you,” Peter comes around the coffee-table and points at the pages of the book. “I think you being a Banshee makes more sense than anything else.”

“No,” Lydia tries to argue, “I don’t want to be a fucking omen of death!”

“Lydia, you—“

“It says Fae hate iron, but I’ve worn and touched iron before, so it has to be a lie,” she continues to argue, trying so hard to push away the truth and yet afraid to accept it.

“Perhaps you are half-Fae blood, it’s the only way I can explain it.”

"My parents _aren't_ Fae," Lydia protests, she would have _known_ if they were. “I’m not adopted.”

"Peter's not saying they aren't your parents or anything like that," Stiles says, glancing sharply at Peter to tell the Alpha that he's handling it. "Look, you are probably descended from the Fae, like a great-grandparent or a great-great-grandparent, who knows? But it makes sense, yeah? And it's only folklore that says Banshees' are omens of death, right? Not the supernatural book?"

"I don't want to," Lydia doesn't know how to finish it, she doesn't know how to put all her feelings into words, and it frustrates her so much, and Stiles reaches out to hold her hand.

"Look, this is a shitty inheritance from some ancestor, but you are Lydia Martin," Stiles squeezes her hand and looks firmly into Lydia's green-eyes, sea-green as Stiles often said. "You are going to learn all the crazy and cool shit you can do, you are going to blow me and my magic crap all out of the water, and you are going to do it flawlessly, like you do everything else."

"I don't want to be an omen of death, I don't want to find _any more_ bodies, Stiles," Lydia admits with a soft tremble to her voice and a wobble to her lips.

"Yeah, I don't want you to find any more bodies," Stiles tells her as he keeps hold of her hand. "My dad's on the case, and my brother is helping him, and hell, Peter will poke his nose into it, you know that."

"Guilty," Peter admits with a slight smirk, and Stiles makes a show of rolling his eyes and giving Lydia a look that makes her lip twitch reluctantly.

"So, Chris will be right behind him to stop him getting in trouble, and whoever is doing this shit will be found and arrested," Stiles continues before biting his lip for a moment. "And if you do hear the voices again? We'll be with you, you'll _never_ have to find someone alone."

"What if I start screaming? What if I scream for people's deaths?" Lydia asks, sounding small and unLydia-like.

"Then we'll scream with you," Stiles says simply. "Your Pack, Lydia. We’ll _always_ be by your side."

“I don’t know...” she says, still a little unsure about this supernatural reveal.

Taking her hands with his own, Stiles waits until he has Lydia’s attention before he starts to speak, “Hey, you know we got your back. And if you need me to spend three nights awake just looking into Banshee lore and history you know I will. We’ve got you. You’re Pack.”

Lydia opens her mouth to try and argue, but she realizes it’s pointless. Accepting Stiles’ words, she gives his hands a squeeze before releasing them and looking back at the book with a nervous look in her eye.

“I guess I should start reading up on everything about Banshees.”

“Hey, we can be magic buddies together!” Stiles says cheerily. “I don’t know how Fae magic works, but it’s gotta be like the same thing right?”

“Just try not to blow up any of my couches or raise the dead while you’re at it,” Peter comments with a snort.

“Oh, definitely not. Trust me, there will be no The Evil Dead remake here,” Stiles answers with a little shiver, “I don’t know if I could handle zombies, that’s gross.”

"At least we know your limits," Peter snorts as he goes back to the loveseat, sitting down and taking back his laptop from Chris.

"Zombies should be _everyone's_ limits," Stiles says firmly as he leans back against Derek, the older teen wrapping his arm around him firmly. "Give me coffee, my pills, books and my laptop, and I'll have everything there is to know about Banshees in three days."

"No," Derek says firmly, pulling his mate closer. "You need sleep."

"Why are the werewolves in my life always trying to keep me from my research?" Stiles complains lightly, turning into Derek with a nuzzle. "Sleep is for the weak."

"Somethings never change," Jackson snorts as Lydia picks up her book again, holding it rather gingerly, and Allison leans against Lydia's shoulder, giving her silent support.

"I'll tie you to the bed if I have to," Derek threatens, Peter smirking to himself as he opens up his laptop, and Stiles blushes while the other teens giggle or snort, and Derek flushes slightly before he inhales through his nose and gives Stiles' an interested look.

"I will not be kink shamed," Stiles says firmly, making Lydia snort, and Stiles decides to change the subject for Chris' sake. "So, full moon tomorrow, what's the plan?"

"Scott will be coming over before nightfall," Peter announces, and Jackson makes a face. "Depending how Jackson's control is the closer to the full moon, he may or may not be joining Scott in containment."

"Isn't the full moon when the werewolves are meant to be overcome with bloodlust?" Allison asks curiously, slightly nervously, and Peter nods.

"For new wolves, yes, but for older wolves or those with a strong anchor? It's a whole different type of lust that can show itself instead," Peter leers at Chris making the older man flush slightly.

"So, if Jackson's anchor is as strong as he thinks it is, that means he's going to be very horny?" Lydia's lips twitch slightly as she glances at the blonde.

“Hey, I’m always horny. However, I know how to contain myself, just because I’m a werewolf isn’t going to change anything,” Jackson huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and thinking about the fact that Stiles is his anchor.

“Did you already figure out what your anchor is? That’s awesome!” Stiles smiles, kicking a foot out to nudge Jackson. He doesn’t ask because he knows that some werewolves keep their anchors a secret, since it’s technically their weakness.

Jackson grins, his cheeks flushing a little at the praise before leaning back against the couch and giving Stiles’ foot a squeeze.

Giving Jackson another nudge, Stiles says, “So show me that _grr_ face. I wanna see what the most beautiful man of Beacon Hills looks like without his eyebrows.”

“Haha. Very funny,” Jackson grunts, “Should have been a comedian, this guy.”

“Show me!”

“Actually, this is a good practice point,” Peter sits up, “We could go out into the woods and let the wolves wrestle to blow off some steam. Because the moment it hits tomorrow Jackson is going to be wolfing out and angry.”

"Whoop!" Stiles cheers making both Jackson and Derek roll their eyes. "Field-trip!"

Peter chuckles slightly as he shuts down his laptop and places it gently down on the coffee-table, "Alright kids, let's get ready for a field-trip."

"Just what my afternoon needs," Lydia says dryly as she marks her page and puts her book on the coffee-table, joining the two laptops and Derek's book, taking Allison's book when she hands it over, and placing it on top of her own. "Two almost grown men wrestling in the dirt."

"If they go shirtless and it's muddy then I believe I've seen a video like that before," Stiles says cheekily making Jackson wrinkle his nose.

"I _know_ where you are going with that, and I promise you, I'm not into incest," Jackson informs his friend as he tucks his phone into his pocket and stands with a stretch.

"Neither am I," Derek says dryly as Stiles snorts, before giving Jackson a look. "I'm going to enjoy rubbing that perfect hair of yours into dirt."

Jackson's eyes narrow and flashes gold for a moment, "You can try."

"Male posturing at its finest," Lydia says dryly to Allison, making her grin. "I suppose we should get bundled up properly if we're braving the cold to see them wrestle each other like puppies."

* * *

Stiles gets so excited that he almost forgets to put on a coat, only to be stopped by Derek’s hand on his shoulder as he hands him a coat.

“Oh, thanks,” Stiles feels his cheeks going red as he accepts the jacket, and scarf Derek loops around his neck. “Thanks, Der.”

“Just making sure you don’t give yourself hypothermia,” Derek smiles before bustling him down to the garage.

Jackson gets into the backseat of the Camaro with Derek and Stiles, while Lydia and Allison follow Peter and Chris into Chris’ SUV.

“Man, I don’t think I’ve been back to the woods since...well, I guess since I was trying to help Scott,” Stiles taps on his chin as he says so.

“I remember when a certain someone used to always drag me out into the woods so we could play games and pretend to be knights,” Jackson smiles at the memory, leaning forward so he can rest his chin on Stiles’ seat.

"And I was always the _best_ at finding the best and sturdiest sword-sticks," Stiles brags as he turns to grin at Jackson.

"We'd pretend to fight off evil knights, defeat evil kings and defend poor misunderstood dragons," Jackson snickers slightly as Derek follows Chris' SUV.

"Poor misunderstood dragons?" Derek repeats with some disbelief, glancing at Stiles.

"Well yeah," Stiles says like he doesn't understand why Derek didn't understand. "Those poor dragons, always besieged by knights or adventurers looking for some of their hoard or blaming him for a missing princess."

"Stiles has always had set ideas on who the real villain is when it comes to dragons," Jackson tells Derek with a grin. "And it's _never_ the giant fire-breathing lizard."

"Dragons _are_ the coolest," Stiles insists with a hint of a pout before perking up slightly. "Wait, do you think dragons are real? That would be so _cool_."

"I think people would know if there were giant fire-breathing lizards around," Jackson argues immediately. "It's not something that can really hide."

"But what if they _aren't_ giant? What if they are smaller, but still fire-breathing and all?" Stiles begins before his eyes light up. " _Or_ perhaps they are shapeshifters! They can take on human form and blend in with everyone, and _that's_ why there are no more sightings of dragons."

"If you were a dragon, why would you want to pretend to be human?" Jackson raises his eyebrows in question. "Between being a human or a dragon, I'd always pick being a dragon."

"True, I'd pick being a dragon too," Stiles says in an agreeable tone. "But we have come far in the art of warfare, and I'd rather pretend to be human then see if my scales can protect me from a missile to the chest."

"Huh, fair point," Jackson muses as Derek listens to them with a hint of a smile. "But still, I'd rather be a dragon than human."

"Ah, but you aren't a human anymore," Stiles reminds him. "You are a creature of the night, a howler to the moon."

“Ugh, shut up. You’re starting to sound like one of your nerd games,” Jackson fell back in his seat.

“Always bullying the nerd in the group,” Stiles sighs and shakes his head, “Jax, how are we supposed to stay friends if you keep up this high school tv show jock attitude? I just want to play DnD and talk about random things.”

Derek snorts, knowing Stiles is just messing around and Jackson also huffs a laugh.

“It’s okay, we’re secret best friends,” Jackson adds.

“No. That’s lame,” Stiles leans back in his own seat, a smile on his face while Jackson tries to argue the pros of being secret best friends like they’re in a high school drama.

* * *

When they reach the Preserve, the three of them get out of the car and walk over to the rest of the group.

Derek and Jackson both buzzing out of their skins with energy as their wolves jump and get excited at the fresh scent of the open air.

“If you want to go run, then go run.” Stiles chuckles, giving Derek’s hand a squeeze as he sees the older man staring out into the woods.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Derek frowns.

"We both know that I can't keep up with you," Stiles reminds him with another squeeze to Derek's hand. "I'll stick with the more human inclined members of the Pack while you lot get your wolf on."

"Wolf on? _Seriously_?" Jackson shakes his head with a scoff. "Come on, Derek, I bet I can beat you in a race."

Derek gives a scoff of his own, pausing to give Stiles a short kiss, before releasing Stiles' hand and making his way to his younger brother.

Stiles grins as he watches Derek nudge at Jackson as they line up under Peter's amused eyes.

"Be careful," the Alpha warns them seriously. "Now, get ready, get set.... _Go!_ "

The two teenage werewolves are off, running at a truly impressive speed, and Peter gives Chris a kiss before he disappears off after his two sons.

"So, are we following them or what?" Stiles asks, and Chris nods slightly.

"In a moment," Chris says as he moves to the trunk of his SUV with the three teenagers following him curiously, and he opens it before removing the false floor of the trunk.

"Dad!" Allison exclaims in shock, staring in disbelief.

"That's some Winchester bullshit there," Stiles mutters, almost gaping at the neatly arrayed weapons hidden in Chris' SUV trunk.

"I suppose this is normal for a hunter's car?" Lydia asks in a would-be calm voice, her eyes a bit wide.

"Yes," Chris nods at Lydia, reaching in and grabbing a gun holster for two guns, loading them and checking them over in quick and easy movements, before he slips off his jacket to put on the holster and cover the guns with his jacket. "I'm no longer part of the Hunters here, they have all heard about my divorce though probably didn't know why until yesterday. I do know they will not have given up patrolling the Preserve, and they'll be more inclined to shoot with the recent murders."

"So, the guns are for them," Stiles concludes, making Chris nod before he grabs a compound bow and a quiver of arrows, turning to Allison with them in hand.

“I think that even if we are the humans in a Pack we should still know how to defend ourselves. We can’t always rely on the wolves to protect us,” Chris tells them all.

“Well, it’s a good thing I already know how to use a gun,” Stiles grins, clicking a pistol on safety and checking to see if it has bullets in it.

“Since when?” Lydia raises an eyebrow.

“I’m the son of a sheriff, of course I’d have some self-defence training and gun safety. He taught me some things when I was twelve, and I used to go to the range quite a bit.” Stiles gives a shrugs. “Although, it’s been a while so I might be a little off in my aim.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get better with practice, and if you can’t—“

Chris’s sentence is cut off with a bang, his eyes blinking as he watches a branch fall off the tree from where Stiles shot.

“Never mind, I still got my aim. I guess hours of CoD kind of helped,” he clicks the gun back to safety.

"....Nice shot," Chris says after a moment of disbelief, glancing back as the teen puts the gun back in its place. "CoD?"

"Call of Duty, it's a video game," Stiles answers easily, making Chris close his eyes in disbelief, and thus missing the moment Lydia punches Stiles' shoulder. "Ouch!"

"A little warning next time," Lydia tells him with a stern glare as Allison loosens her tight hold of her bow, and begins to test the tension to the string.

"Right," Chris sighs before turning to Lydia, "before we're overrun by worried wolves, any experience with real weapons or video games?"

"No, sir," Lydia replies in a tone as dry as Chris' while Stiles furrows his brows in confusion.

"Why would we be over—" Stiles doesn't even get to finish his question before Derek's almost barrelling into him, pulling him close to Derek's hard and hot—Stiles always means this in both ways—body and sniffing at him while in Beta-shift. "Hey, Der."

"What the hell happened?" Jackson growls, almost herding Lydia and Allison closer to Stiles as Derek buries his face against Stiles' neck with a shudder. "We heard a gunshot."

"What the _fuck_?" Stiles demands as he stares almost angrily at Jackson while Peter strolls out of the treeline and over to Chris. "Why the _hell_ do you still have your eyebrows?!"

" _Stiles_ ," Jackson and Derek both growl in disbelief, and Peter chuckles slightly, the slight tension in him seeping out of his frame as he slides his hands to Chris' hips and pulls his mate close, acknowledging how unharmed and unconcerned his human Pack members looked.

"I told you that everything is fine," Peter says almost smugly, Chris snorting as he knew Peter hadn't been as certain as he proclaimed considering how close Peter has pulled him.

Chris rolls his eyes at Peter, “Everything’s fine. Stiles here was just showing off his marksmanship.”

“ _You_ shot the gun off?” Jackson rears his head back almost like in shock. “Since when did you learn how to shoot a gun?”

“I’m the Sheriff’s son,” Stiles states like that’s the answer to everything.

Derek makes a soft growl, clinging to Stiles harder as his wolf slowly starts to calm down.

He was so afraid.

All he had heard was the bang of a gun and suddenly was filled with nothing but fear. But Stiles was safe, his mate was okay.

Stiles pats Derek’s arm, chuckling at the shivering older man, “Babe, I’m okay. I promise everything’s alright, you can go back to frolicking in the woods.”

“I do not frolic,” Derek grumbles.

“Whatever you say, big guy,” Stiles grins, pressing a kiss to Derek’s cheek.

Derek turns his head and kisses Stiles, holding him close as he lets the taste of his mate sooth him further.

"I think it would be best for all of us if we keep closer together," Peter says as he finally releases his grip on Chris' hips. "So we don't have another scare if Chris continues with testing our human Pack mates ability to defend themselves."

"I want to," Chris tells his mate as he moves back to his trunk, glancing over the weapons and completing which weapon he should teach Lydia and Stiles, which would suit them other than a gun. "We can't rely on you defending us all the time."

 _Knives are easy to conceal_ , Chris thinks as he looks over his different knives, trying to figure out which would be the best for them to learn.

 _Bowie is a good all-purpose survival knife_ , Chris thinks as he grabs the trio of bowie knives in their sheaths, and turns to the group.

"Oh no," Stiles shakes his head, distracted from reassuring Derek to stare at the knives in Chris' hands. "Knives isn't something that I should be handling unless they are kitchen knives. I'm much too clumsy to be trusted with a knife like _that_."

"You balk at knives, but you are fine with guns?" Lydia asks in disbelief as she reaches out for one of the sheaths and testing the weight of the blade.

"I know my limits," Stiles argues. "I know how to handle a gun, and I know I'm more likely to stab myself then someone else."

“Well, at least you know where your limits are at,” Lydia huffs while looking at the weapons Chris has.

Derek has to hold back on the urge to growl at the knives that have been set down. He knows they aren’t in danger, but just the sight of the sharp weapons have him even more in edge.

“Der, it’s alright. Nobody’s going to get hurt,” Stiles pats the man’s arm again before stepping out of his grip.

The wolf wants to grab Stiles and run, but he stands back when his mate tells him to settle.

“So, I think what we can start with hand to hand defense first,” Chris states, “We can work up to knives and guns next. I know you’ll probably face guns more than you’ll face fists. But it’s good to start somewhere small.”

"We should go further into the Preserve," Peter glances around the small parking lot—one of several leading into the Preserve—and grimacing at how open it is. "I don't think we want an audience for this."

Chris nods as he places the weapons back, keeping his guns on him, and not taking the bow and quiver from Allison, and replacing the false bottom of the trunk before locking his SUV, and turning to face the others.

"Is there a clearing somewhere nearby?" Chris asks Peter, knowing he'd probably have the best idea, and Peter nods.

"Follow along children," Peter says in a teasing tone, turning to head into the Preserve once again with the rest of the Pack following him.

Derek slips his hand into Stiles', using that to sooth him and remind him that Stiles is fine, he'll be fine, that Chris isn't going to hurt him or allow him to get hurt.

"Do this mean we get to watch Stiles flail around and trying to punch something?" Jackson teases with a smirk, and Stiles glares at him.

"I know self-defence!" Stiles protests. "Why does nobody believe that?"

"Perhaps because you look as threatening as a kitten and are built like a toothpick?" Jackson suggests, and Stiles gasps as he stares at Jackson in disbelief.

"A kitten? A _kitten_?!" Stiles repeats in disbelief before glancing at Derek. "Did you hear what your brother just called me?"

"Kitten is a rather cute and adept comparison actually," Lydia muses, increasing Stiles' disbelief.

Derek wants to argue that Stiles is anything but a kitten, but then he sees Stiles’ nose scrunching up in frustration and he loses the thought immediately.

“You’re definitely a kitten. Fierce and angry like one too,” Derek smirks at the noise Stiles makes, his boyfriend glaring at him in frustration.

“I’m not a kitten!” he yells.

“Whatever you say, _kitten_ ,” Derek smirks at the nickname and the way Stiles’ cheeks instantly turn a deep shade of red.

“You’re the worst,” he mumbles, ducking his head to try and hide his blush. But Derek’s already seen it and is guiding Stiles’ chin back up to peck his boyfriends lips.

“My kitten,” he grins.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Stiles huffs, continuing to follow Peter as he leads them to a clearing in the woods.

The Alpha stops and turns to give his mate a grin, “This should be the perfect spot.”

“Thank you love. Now shoo. This is a humans only activity,” Chris motions with his hands.

"Fine, fine, have your secret human gathering," Peter shakes his head. "We'll just have fun without you."

"Exactly," Chris smirks, accepting the kiss Peter gives him, and resisting the urge to pull Peter closer and deepening the kiss. "Have fun with your mother-sons bonding in the woods."

Peter blinks before smiling slightly as he realises that yes, he will be bonding with his sons.

"I will," Peter presses a short kiss to Chris' lips, "you have fun with human activities."

Chris snorts as he watches Peter move to gather his two sons, Derek reluctantly pulling away from Stiles, and keeps glancing back at Stiles in a way that makes Peter wrap an arm around Derek's shoulders to keep him moving, and Jackson snorting and nudging at his older brother.

"I'm glad I remembered to pack sneakers," Lydia says as she falls into a series of stretches that Coach taught them all. "This would have been hell to walk through in heels."

Allison startles from watching Lydia at her words, shaking her head and putting down her bow and quiver as she wills her blush away, before copying Lydia with stretching—her mother had always stressed the importance of stretching.

Stiles sighs slightly, glancing to where Derek disappeared into the woods with Peter and Jackson, before moving over to the girls and falling into the stretches he had been taught during his self-defence classes and mixing them with the stretches Coach made the team do before lacrosse practise.

Chris nods in approval.

“That’s good. We can start with a slow stretch first,” Chris follows them as he stretches his arms and legs, letting his muscles get loose before straightening back up.

“Alright, Stiles step forward.”

The teenager groans, “Man, why do I always have to be the punching bag?” Stiles whines, stepping forward so he can stand in front of Chris.

“You’re not a punching bag,” Chris rolls his eyes at the teenager’s antics.

“I mean. I could be,” he shrugs.

“Always start small, Stiles I want you to throw a punch at me.”

“I don’t know, that’s technically hitting an old person and I’m not reall—“

“Stiles,” Chris snaps.

"Alright, alright," Stiles sighs before readying himself in the position correctly, centring his mass and firming himself, and then he punches, aiming for the solar plexus.

Chris' hand snaps out, grabbing Stiles' wrist and uses it as an anchoring point to pull Stiles forward, bending to slam his shoulder into Stiles' stomach, lifting him up and throwing him down as he lets go of Stiles' wrist.

Stiles hits the floor hard, all the breath rushing out of him in a rush, and he blinks up at sky in disbelief.

"Yeah, I feel like the punching bag," Stiles wheezes as Chris peers down at him.

"You okay?" Chris asks in mild concern, the terrifying mildness that Chris showed every time Stiles saw him before he got back together with Peter and acted like a relatively normal person in love.

"Well, I didn't throw up, so that's a plus," Stiles says as he just lies there, and Allison and Lydia comes over to look down on him. "But, yeah, I definitely feel like the punching bag."

"Dad," Allison chastises as she reaches down to help Stiles up, the other teen groans as he sits up.

"I expect that was meant to teach us something?" Lydia asks dryly, glancing up at Chris.

"Apart from the old guy has moves and can still hand me my ass?" Stiles asks weakly, hunching slightly as he tries to get his breath back.

Chris helps Stiles stand back up on his feet, giving the kid a pat on the back before getting back into motion.

“Okay, this time I’m going to throw a punch at you, and I want you to dodge,” Chris tells the teen.

“Er, how about—SHIT!” Stiles ducks instantly when Chris throws the punch and rolls to the ground to avoid it.

“Good. Your reflexes are fast,” Chris helps him back up. “Now, I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder, and I want you to push it off. Act like I’m attacking you.”

* * *

That afternoon they went through a whole motion of self defense techniques.

Each of them coming up to Chris as he goes through the motions with them, and shows them the best way to dodge, push and fight back their attacker. By the end of it, Stiles is lying on the ground and ready to take a nap.

He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears the sound of twigs crunch under boots when Derek approaches his lying form, his boyfriend crouching down to smile down at him.

“You ready to go home?”

"I can't," Stiles tells him regretfully, star-fished out on the ground, and Derek wants to snort.

"And why not?" Derek asks with some fond amusement.

"I can't move," Stiles slits his eyes open slightly, the slightest glimpse of amber-brown staring up at him. "I'm just dead-weight, or dead in general. Remember me fondly, and know I will always be with you."

Derek snorts and moves to slide his arms under Stiles' back and knees before standing easily despite the added weight, and Stiles yelps slightly, throwing his arms around Derek's neck.

"Or you could carry me," Stiles says as he loosens his strangle-grip on Derek's neck slightly, relaxing into the big chest against him and the strong muscular arms holding him. "Have I ever told you how much I love your casual displays of strength?"

Derek snorts again, trying to enjoy the warm feeling spreading in his chest at Stiles' easy use of the word 'love', and reminding himself strongly it doesn't been that Stiles is in love with him. _Yet._

Stiles rests his head against Derek's shoulder with a yawn, and Derek smiles slightly as he turns to head back to the car.

"So, how many times did you hit the dirt?" Jackson asks with a smirk, falling into step beside Derek, and looking at the bits of dirt, dried leaves and other things from the forest floor clinging stubbornly to Stiles' back.

"You're an ass," Stiles informs Jackson without looking at the other teen.

"Stiles did well," Allison defends with her quiver on her back and toying with her bow, slightly disappointed that she didn't get to practise with it.

Jackson looks doubtful, but doesn't say anything as Lydia joins them with a grimace.

"I'm ready for a shower and then food," Lydia says as she pinches at her top, tugging it away from her sweaty skin with a grimace.

"Movie after dinner?" Allison suggests as Peter slips his hand into Chris', the older men following after their teenagers.

"Not moving and just vegging out watching something?" Stiles asks. "Sounds like heaven, count me in."

“Sounds wonderful,” Peter grins, opening the back door for Lydia and Allison to get into the car and happily holding it open like a gentleman.

Derek carries Stiles to the Camaro, waiting for Jackson to get in first before he puts the seat back up and gets Stiles’ settled in.

“I’m not a child,” Stiles huffs, interrupted with his pouting when Derek presses a kiss to his cheek.

When he gets into the driver’s side, Derek gives Stiles’ hand a squeeze before starting up the car and pulling out so he can drive home.

Jackson plays on his phone the entire time, too tired to start any playful fighting between the three of them while Stiles is close to falling asleep.

* * *

When they get to the apartment, Stiles has a little more energy to crawl his way to their bedroom and starts the shower. Stripping out of his dirt ridden clothes and ignoring the eyes on him as he gets in under the spray.

Derek tightens his fist, inhaling deeply to keep himself in check as he tries not to pounce on his mate.

Derek quickly strips himself from his clothes, and steps into the shower, shutting the door behind him, and moving to hold Stiles.

Stiles sighs deeply, slumping back against Derek, and just standing there for a while as he tries to remember how to move.

Derek presses a kiss to the side of Stiles' neck before reaching out with one hand to grab the shower-gel, and Stiles gives a groan of relief as Derek's hands begin to wash him without making Stiles move away from his position leaning against Derek's chest, not ignorant to the way the sound makes Derek's dick twitch against him, but honestly too tired for sexy time—something he's slightly horrified is possible.

"You're the best," Stiles tells him, leaning his head back against Derek's shoulder, and Derek smiles slightly as he washes Stiles with his soapy hands, happy to get his bare hands over his mate. "I'm probably going to pass out until dinner."

"That's fine," Derek turns his head to press a kiss to Stiles' cheek, ignoring how hard his cock feels trapped between their bodies, and scrubbing down Stiles' stomach to his crotch.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles hisses as Derek's soap hand works up and down his dick, rubbing over his head and then moving down to fondle his balls. "That's not just cleaning."

Derek hums, his hips rocking against Stiles, and moving his hand back to work Stiles' cock, feeling it harden further in his grip and get bigger.

" _Deerreek_ ," Stiles whines slightly, and Derek presses his mouth against Stiles' throat.

"Let me make you feel good, you don't have to do anything, just let me," Derek says hotly against his throat, sucking at the wet skin and no doubt adding more bruises to his neck that will make his dad eye him knowingly.

"Okay," Stiles sighs as he relaxes back against Derek, feeling Derek's other arm wrap around his waist and anchoring him a standing position as Derek's soapy hand slips up and down Stiles' dick, his hips rocking against Stiles' ass.

Stiles moans as Derek gives the base of his dick a squeeze, the older man playing with the head of his dick for a moment while rutting against his ass.

It’s nothing but pure delight for Stiles, although he wishes he was more awake so he could get more into it. But he’s exhausted from earlier activities and feels like he’s stuck between pleasure and sleep.

Teeth nip against his skin, jolting Stiles awake, and he hums with delight when he feel Derek toy with his balls.

“God, the things you do to me. You’re so beautiful, Stiles,” Derek kisses against his skin.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles says breathlessly, groaning slightly as Derek takes his dick back his in big and surprisingly soft hand, working it with a grip that's _just_ tight enough, adding a twist to his wrist as he comes up to the head, and Derek's thick hard cock keeps rutting against his ass almost carelessly, like Derek's more focused on Stiles' pleasure than his own.

Derek sucks on the thin delicate skin of Stiles' throat, relieving his _need_ to mark _and_ bite Stiles by sucking bruises along his pale throat, almost tasting the blood rushing up to the surface to bruise wonderfully, and Stiles is trustingly limp against him, his throat bared without second through to the predator behind him, with his mouth to Stiles' fragile throat, and Derek groans low in his throat, his hips working a bit harder at the total submission Stiles carelessly shows like he _doesn't_ know what it _does_ to Derek, _does_ to his wolf to have his mate completely at his mercy.

He can feel his claws growing on the hand wrapped around Stiles' middle, can feel them prickling against Stiles' skin, and again Stiles doesn't becoming even slightly concerned about his loss of control.

He wants to drag Stiles from the shower, push him down on their bed, naked and still wet, and he wants to straddle Stiles, fuck himself against Stiles' cock, feel Stiles' cock rubbing against his pucker, and imagining what it'll be like when Stiles actually _fucks_ Derek, imagining the feel of Stiles' cockhead stretching his hole open before sliding deep inside of Derek, making Derek feel _full_ with Stiles' cock.

Derek groans against Stiles' throat, his hand speeding up its motions on Stiles' cock, and not yet realising how much he _wants_ Stiles to be the one _fucking_ him, how completely Derek _wants_ that, and how all thoughts of fucking his cock into Stiles seems to have disappeared from his immediate desires and needs.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles moans, arching as he feels his orgasm approaching.

“Please, please—fuck!” Stiles howls as he starts to cum all over the shower wall.

Derek snarls viciously against Stiles’ skin where he has his face is pressed against, keeping his hand pumping Stiles’ cock, Derek watches with growing arousal as his mate finishes with coming. Stiles’ dick goes soft in Derek’s hand and the older man turns his head to press a kiss to Stiles’ throat.

“Beautiful,” Derek purrs, he leans Stiles’ forward, so he can rub his own erection up against Stiles’ asshole.

His eyes never leave the sight of his cock rubbing against Stiles’ ass.

It’s such a glorious sight and all Derek wants to do in that moment is push inside and take his mate right then and there, but he holds back.

Their first time should be special, and not in the middle of a shower.

Stiles clutches at Derek's arm, whimpering as he feels the head of Derek's dick against his hole.

Derek works his own cock, his cockhead resting against Stiles' pucker and rubbing against it, and Derek groans as he feels his balls tighten, the only warning he gets before he cums against Stiles' pink pucker.

Stiles echoes his groan, head dropping as he feels Derek rub his cum against his pucker, and he almost thinks for a moment that Derek will push some cum into his hole as Derek's thumb rubs against it, but then Derek's letting the water wash the cum away.

Derek can't help, but take deep and greedy inhales through his nose, savouring each lung full of the scent of his cum on Stiles, the smell of sex and the lazy arousal and sleepy contentment.

Derek pulls his limp and tired mate back up against his chest, and finishes a quick wash down of Stiles' body that does little to cover the scent of what they had just done, the claim of Derek's cum on Stiles, and he wants to preen like his wolf is doing.

Derek twists and lowers Stiles on the floor of the shower, carefully resting his mate against the wall before turning to do a quick wash of his own.

"This tile is cold under my ass," Stiles complains lightly as he rests his head against the tile tiredly, and Derek snorts quietly as he washes himself quickly, but thoroughly.

Derek turns off the water and turns to gather his mate up, Stiles wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and Stiles gives Derek a lazy kiss to his cheek as Derek steps out of the shower.

Drying off his mate, Derek watches as Stiles shuffles into the room only to pull on the pair of sweatpants Derek wore the other day and then flopping on to the bed. He’s out like a light switch in under a few minutes.

Smiling to himself at his sleepy mate, Derek pulls on some clothes for himself and grabs a book.

He’s not as tired as Stiles is, after all running around the woods was more like a simple jog for humans to him.

He moves Stiles’ passed out body over so he can settle in that spot between his mate and the door. It’s an instinctual thing to be protective of his sleeping mate, so Derek settles down, opens the book and reads for the next hour.

* * *

“I can see someone’s tuckered out,” Peter jokes a while later when he comes to investigate his son’s whereabouts, leaning against the doorframe as he grins down at where Stiles is slumped asleep and Derek is reading.

“Oh,” Derek glances at the clock on his nightstand, cringing when he sees the time. “Did we miss dinner?”

"No," Peter shakes his head with an amused smile. "Stiles isn't the only one that took a nap, so dinner is only just ready now. I'm only here to let you know before I go, and wake Lydia and Allison."

"Thanks," Derek says as he closes his book after marking his place, placing it on his nightstand, turning to where Stiles has moved to curl and snuggle against him. "Stiles, it's time for dinner."

Stiles smacks his lips, screwing up his face a little, and snuggling closer to Derek, and Derek smiles as he strokes a hand down Stiles' bare arm.

Peter decides to leave Derek to waking up his mate, and pushes off the doorframe as he heads to Allison's room.

He knocks on Allison's door, pushing it open and smiling as he sees Allison and Lydia curled up together under the covers and dressed in their pyjamas, Allison has wrapped her taller body around Lydia's more petite frame, her face buried against Lydia's neck that's exposed thanks to the redhead bundling her hair up into a messy bun near the top of her head.

Peter's smile slips slightly as he catches sight of the cupboard box half-filled with trophies and a leather jacket folded with the words 'Laura's things' scribbled on the side.

This hadn't really been Laura's room, she didn't use it enough for it to be considered Laura's room like Cora and Derek's rooms were, but still, it causes a bit of grief to see her few belongings tucked away in a box, ready for storage.

But it would be good to allow Allison to make this room her own, to allow her to choose and design this blank slate into something uniquely Allison's, and Peter wonders if she'd like a mural on her wall like Cora did or she would be content with boring plainly coloured walls like Derek.

"Allison," Peter calls, not wanting to enter Allison's room without permission. "Come on, Ally, it's time to wake up."

Allison hums, tightening her grip around Lydia sleepily, and slowly blinks her eyes open with another hum before she realises what her position is.

“Dinners ready,” Peter smirks, already knowing that Allison is going to start getting flustered any moment.

“O-oh, um. Thanks Peter, we’ll be down in a minute,” Allison blushes, looking down at where she was cuddled up against Lydia.

* * *

Leaving the two of them alone, Peter walks back into the kitchen where he spots Chris at the stove stirring the boiling pot of butterbeans for Peter.

Peter peppers his mate’s cheek with kisses, while wrapping his arms around Chris’s waist.

“Hello handsome,” he smirks, “You know, I’m really starting to love the idea of keeping you as a little house husband. You’d look ravishing in just an apron.”

Chris snorts, leaning back against Peter, "We both know you'd make the better house husband considering you can actually cook and bake."

"And you'd get bored being a little house husband," Peter finishes, pressing one last kiss to Chris' cheek, feeling the roughness of Chris' scruff against his lips, and he squeezes Chris' waist before letting go to check and begin to dish up the rest of the dinner.

"And I'd get bored being a little house husband," Chris agrees as he turns off the burner unto the pot. "What am I meant to do with these now?"

"Just drain them and dish them up on the plates," Peter shakes his head as he turns off the burner under his pot of potatoes, ready to drain them and turn them into soft buttery mash. "You're right, you would make a terrible house husband if you don't know that."

"I'm hurt," Chris deadpans as he drains the butterbeans, shaking the colander to make sure all the water is gone, Peter handing him a serving-spoon, and the younger man grabs his other colander to pour the potatoes in.

Chris moves from the sink and drops the colander over the pot, so he doesn't drip water everywhere as he goes over to where the plates are laid out to dish out the beans.

"Jackson," Peter pitches his voice to carry it to the living room, barely raising his voice considering his youngest son's newly lupine nature. "Come and set the table for us."

Jackson groans as he throws off the throw blanket, standing up from the couch and stretches, feeling his spine pop slightly, before he shuffles tiredly into the kitchen.

"Why didn't you call for Derek?" Jackson complains as he moves to the drawers, pulling it open and grabbing enough cutlery for everyone.

"Because he's still trying to wake Stiles up," Peter says simply. "Remember the placements."

"Yes, mom," Jackson heaves a sigh, dropping the cutlery on the table, and going to grab the placemats, placing them on the table and in front of each chair before separating out the cutlery for everyone.

* * *

“ _Nooo_ ,” Stiles whines as Derek drags him out of bed. “I want to go back to bed.”

“You can sleep after we have dinner, Stiles,” Derek gives another tug.

“Fine,” he grouches, sitting up and kicking the last of the covers off of him, marching out of the bedroom with his arms crossed while Derek follows after him to the kitchen where Jackson has finished setting the table.

“You look like you just rolled out of bed,” Jackson snorts.

“I did,” Stiles scrunches his nose up, not in the mood to argue as he flips into his seat and hunches over a little, a giant yawn escapes from his mouth and he smacks his lips while rubbing at his face.

Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ bed hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before leaving to grab them a glass of water.

“You took a nap as well?” Allison asks, taking a seat next to Stiles while a more than awake Lydia comes into the room next.

“Yeah. Wish I wasn’t woken up though,” Stiles grunts, leaning on his arm as he tries to doze off.

"Dinner's ready," Derek reminds Stiles, placing down the glass of water in front of Stiles, and putting down his own glass on the coaster, before ducking to press a kiss on Stiles' head. "Drink, it'll wake you up a bit."

Stiles grumbles as he sits up and grabs the glass, taking small sips of the cool refreshing water, and Derek squeezes Stiles' shoulder as he moves to help bring the plates over with Chris and Peter.

"Thank you, Pup," Peter smiles as he finishes adding the meatloaf to the plates to go with the mash potatoes and butterbeans, sliding two plates over for Derek and Stiles--Derek's plate having noticeably bigger portion.

Derek gives a slightly smile as he takes the plates and walks back over to the table, putting down the plates in front of Stiles and in front of Derek's empty seat before he heads back to grab Jackson's plate letting Chris carry over Lydia and Allison's plates while Peter carries Chris' and his own.

"We can have Pack cuddles and movie in my room," Peter informs them as they all sit down, Stiles blinking blearily down at his plate. "I have a TV with a DVD player."

"You're serious about this Pack pile and sleeping in the same bed?" Jackson asks with some disbelief as Derek nudges Stiles until the younger teen picks up the fork and begins to dig into his food.

"It's part of Pack bonding," Peter explains mildly, watching his more sleepy Pack members eat.

"Can we all fit on your bed?" Lydia asks somewhat doubtfully, cutting into her meatloaf and taking a bite with a hum of surprise and pleasure at how tasty it is.

"Yes," Peter says simply, smirking slightly as he wonders how'll they react to the size of Peter's custom made bed.

"You could have an orgy in that bed without worrying about falling off," Stiles informs Lydia, still tired despite his nap. "It's also damn comfortable, like _sinfully_ comfortable."

"You have an orgy-sized bed then?" Lydia deadpans, and Peter smirks as he remembers certain fond memories.

“Something like that,” he teases the teenager, smirking when he sees the burning look on Chris’ face as he tries to ignore the awkward conversation going on.

Stiles sits up a little when he smells the delicious scent of hot food, his mouth beginning to water as he looks down at the plate before him. Taking a single bite, he moans at the flavor and leans back in his seat.

“Damn, if there’s one thing I can count on to kick start my day, it’s gonna be Peter’s cooking,” he moans, taking another mouthful of the delicious meatloaf.

“Thank you, Pup,” Peter preens at the compliment.

Derek loves watching his mate eat and makes those sweet little noises as he eats mouthful after mouthful.

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna eat?” Stiles nudges his boyfriend.

Derek snorts, not pointing out that he's already half-way done with his first serving while Stiles had been trying to wake up, and turned most of his attention back to his meal while enjoying the sweet noises of enjoyment Stiles makes with each mouthful.

"Meatloaf shouldn't taste this good," Jackson says between mouthfuls, feeling starved despite Peter feeding him as well or better than he's normally feed at home.

He supposes it’s to do with his increased metabolism, and he wonders what his parents will think about his new increased appetite, and Jackson almost snorts.

 _They'll probably think I'm smoking a lot of weed or something,_ Jackson thinks with some amusement, because he doubts either of his parents will think of _werewolves_ as the answer.

Hell, Jackson had thought drugs when it came to McCall's sudden improvement, though werewolves make a lot more sense considering the holes in McCall's lacrosse gloves.

Peter surveys the table and can't help the smile curling his lips at having a table full of pups, each of them enjoying the meal Peter provided for them, and Peter can't help the little rumble escaping him.

 _All we need is Malia to make it perfect it_ , Peter thinks to himself, ignoring the stab of grief at the thought that another dark hair girl should be at his table. _Cora would have loved this._

Cora, forever eleven-years-old, would always be Peter's favourite niece, and Peter doubts he'd ever be able to bring himself to turn her room into something else.

It had been easier with the room Laura used as she barely used it, and mainly used it as a storage room for her trophies, but Cora's room? Cora's room that had been _hers_ in every way that Laura's room wasn't Laura's? No, Peter can't erase the last bit he had of his niece.

Jackson would have the spare room that Peter originally offered Chris, and there is another spare room—though not the biggest—that would be Malia's when Peter found her.

Making up his mind on the choice, Peter pulls himself out of his thoughts so he can continue finishing his meal, grinning as everyone gets up to get another serving of the meal he made.

Stiles stays awake long enough to enjoy half of another plate before giving the rest to Derek when he gets too full.

“I’ll do dishes, you go on to bed,” Derek presses a kiss to his sleepy mate’s forehead.

“You sure? I can stay awake a little longer to help,” Stiles stands up, moving to go to the sink, but Derek stops him with his hand.

“I promise I’ll be fine,” Derek kisses him again. “Go to bed, I’ll join you in a bit.”

“Okay, don’t stay up too long, Der,” Stiles smiles, making another yawn before turning to leave and go back to their den.

Peter gently catches Stiles' arm, almost smiling as the teen looks at Peter's hand in sleepy confusion before looking up at Peter.

"Pack pile tonight," Peter reminds Stiles gently making Stiles blink and nod.

"Right, orgy-bed," Stiles nods to himself, Chris groaning slightly as Peter snickers.

"Come on, Stiles," Allison takes Stiles' other arm. "You can point out where Peter keeps his DVDs in his room."

"He just puts them on shelves," Stiles frowns, obviously too sleepy to realise that Allison is gently leading him to Peter and Chris' room. "Mixed in with his books because he has books everywhere."

Peter snorts as he hears Stiles, helping his son clear the table as Chris fills the sink, and Lydia and Jackson follows behind Allison and Stiles after Peter shoos him off.

"You were going to let him go back to your den and sleep without reminding him about the Pack pile, weren't you?" Peter says with some amusement, knowing it's probably the knowledge that Jackson would cuddle Stiles that stopped Derek from reminding his sleepy mate.

Derek's ears pink, but his pup stubbornly refuses to comment making Peter chuckle slightly as they move the plates to the sink for Chris to wash—there's never any crumbs left or left-overs to be put away when feeding werewolves, and Peter supposes teenagers too.

Peter gently takes the towel from Derek before the younger man can set himself up to dry the dishes, and he smiles at his son's confusion, "Go get settled with your mate, and the rest of the Pack. Chris and I can deal with this."

Derek frowns slightly, obviously a bit torn, but the prospect of cuddling with his mate wins out, and Peter smiles to himself as Derek leaves the kitchen while trying to act like he isn't in a hurry.

"Five teenagers and us in one bed," Chris shakes his head with a sigh. "This would sound like a sex cult to anyone else."

"Noah thought I was pulling Stiles into a sex cult before he learnt about werewolves," Peter snickers.

“Of course he thought something like that, _I_ would have thought of the same thing if I didn’t already know you,” Chris huffs, picking up a towel to start on where Derek left off with drying the dishes.

“I do give off that cult leader vibe, don’t I?” Peter smirks. “Hmmm, a sex cult. That doesn’t sound too bad in my opinion.”

Chris snorts, rolling his eyes at the man before him and tries to concentrate on finishing the dishes.

* * *

Stiles makes a noise of contentment when he flips down on the master bed, tugging a pillow closer to his body so he can cuddle with it and wait for everyone else to join him on the bed.

It’s no question that Derek makes a beeline to the room, shucking off his pants and shirt so he can cuddle up against Stiles’ back, nosing and scenting his mate like he hasn’t seen him in forever when really it was mere minutes ago.

“The return of the cuddle wolf,” Stiles jokes, earning a grunt from Derek.

“Aw man, no fair. I wanted to cuddle with Stiles,” Jackson pouts.

"Hold on," Stiles sighs, tugging and twisting with Derek until Derek's on the outside, lying on his back with Stiles half on top of him while on the inside, and Jackson is quick to crawl over the bed and cuddle against Stiles' back as Stiles drops his head on Derek's shoulder. "Happy?"

"Yes," Jackson says smugly, making Derek huff as he slips an arm under Stiles, wrapping it around Stiles' middle and pulling his mate closer to him and as far away from Jackson as possible with his brother curling around Stiles' back, and Stiles yawns as he strokes his hand lazily through Derek's chest hair.

"So, Stiles is wolf-nip," Lydia says dryly as Allison looks for a DVD for them to watch and probably fall asleep too.

Allison snickers, glancing back as Derek nuzzles at Stiles' short hair as the younger teen closes his eyes with another yawn, and Jackson noses against the back of Stiles' shoulder.

"And Stiles is right," Lydia says with some disbelief as she takes in the truly massive bed. "It _is_ an orgy bed."

"Please stop talking about our mom's sex life," Jackson groans as he rests his cheek against Stiles' shoulder. "Knowing him, he'll probably be _delighted_ to share stories."

"If only to see if Dad gets jealous and wants to have hard possessive sex," Allison says with a shudder.

"Sex is like a family dinner," Stiles mutters drowsily as if that's meant to make sense, and Derek hides his smile against Stiles' head, pressing a kiss to his sleepy mate's head.

"Is _that_ meant to make sense?" Jackson demands, running a hand down Stiles' side in a way that makes Derek glare at him suspiciously and run his own hand down Stiles' side, remarking Stiles as _his_ , and making sure that Jackson's hand doesn't run too low considering the state of dress Stiles is in.

Derek grins as he hears the soft snore come from his mate, Stiles is already out cold within a few minutes.

Lydia curls up against Jackson’s back, so they are back to back, and Allison blushes as she settles down next to the redhead.

Curling an arm around the other girl, Lydia hides her blush in Allison’s hair while the other girl relaxes in her arms.

When Chris and Peter finish up with the dishes, they both enter the room with a smile growing on their faces.

“Aw look at them, like a pile of puppies,” Peter leans against the doorframe as he watches the five teenagers cuddle.

“It’s cute,” Chris comments, his heart swelling at the sight of his daughter looking happy.

"Shush, you going to wake Stiles," Allison warns them quietly, turning away from the movie to glare at them before turning back, happy she's got her blush under control as Lydia leans propped up against the pillows beside her, an arm around Allison's middle.

Peter snickers at the look on Chris' face, and bends down to grab Derek's discarded clothes, his son probably didn't think much about anything apart from getting as much bared skin pressed against Stiles, and Peter's mildly surprised not to find a pair of boxers in the pile of clothing.

He supposes it is a _bit_ too soon to spring naked puppy-piles to the rest of the pups, humans—especially teenagers—are always so funny about nudity, and Chris would probably have more reserves too.

Peter sighs, human were sometimes truly strange creatures, and dumps Derek's clothes into the hamper before stripping down to his boxers.

Truly, he enjoyed being able to sleep naked with his mate, but Chris would object horribly at the idea of being in the same bed as his daughter while naked.

It's another hurdle to overcome with a human mate, Peter knows, but Chris—and the rest of the Pack—are worth it.

Peter dumps his clothes into the hamper, smiling as Chris likewise does the same with his jeans and shirt, and he lets his mate get in first before Peter slips in, between his Pack and the door, between his mate and the door, and possessively wraps himself around Chris.

Stiles' soft little snores, Jackson and Derek near silent huffs as they silently fight over something—most likely Stiles—Allison and Lydia's little soft giggles and whispers of the movie, Chris' content breathing and steady heartbeat, all sounds of _his_ Pack, and all sounds that Peter thinks he could get used to, would love to fall to sleep to as much as possible.


	7. Chapter Seven, "I don't know whether to kill it or lick it."

Stiles wakes up to himself practically sweating underneath the weight of two werewolves.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, pushing off Jackson’s weight as he crawls out from under the werewolf and to the bathroom.

After he finishes up, Stiles comes back into the room and squints as he sees the pile of bodies on Peter’s bed.

Not feeling tired enough to go back to sleep, or lay with the wolves, instead he opts for going into the study so he can spend the morning hours reading up on magic theory.

He gets so lost in those books he doesn’t realize how much time passes, only to be startled when a hand settles on his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck—“ Stiles fumbles with the book, spinning around to stare up at Derek’s face. “Don’t do that! You scared me!”

Derek grumbles in a tone that's disgruntled and at a level that's too soft for Stiles' poor ears to hear, and simply picks up Stiles—book and all—before sitting down in Stiles' place now with Stiles to act as a human plushie for Derek to cuddle.

Immediately Derek's nose is tucked against Stiles' neck, a pleased rumble escapes his boyfriend's chest and vibrates against Stiles' back.

"Err, a no word day?" Stiles asks, relaxing back against the board and bare expanse of Derek's chest, feeling the soft feeling of Derek's chest hair that reminds Stiles more of an animal's pelt/fur then human hair though he keeps that thought to himself even if it makes him wonder if all werewolves had fur-feeling hair like poodles.

Stiles has to stifle a giggle at the idea of Derek as a poodle, or the look on his face if Stiles _dared_ to suggest werewolves are _anything_ like poodles, but then there's teeth nipping at his throat followed by a long swipe of a tongue, and suddenly all thoughts flee Stiles' head as Derek pulls Stiles even _closer_ to his body.

"Dere?" there's a hitch to Stiles' breathing as a clawed hand spreads itself possessively across his stomach, and Derek rumbles again, nipping at Stiles' jaw before lowering his mouth to Stiles' throat and doing the obviously important job of marking Stiles' neck up in beard-burn and love-bite bruises.

Stiles will freely admit that his danger-meter is a bit fucked up, that he looks more at humans with suspicion then the werewolves—creatures of the night, monsters from the movies—in his life, and he also knows that since Derek Hale stalked into his life, Stiles has become _very_ familiar with fear-boners.

It's only....the fear is absence in Stiles despite Stiles knowing full well how weak of control werewolves can over themselves on the day of the full moon, and there's a nonverbal werewolf curled around him, with his mouth—complete with sharp fangs, Stiles notices—at Stiles' throat and with claws on his belly.

“Cuddle wolf,” Stiles remarks, grinning when Derek only makes a noise in response. “My own personal fur blanket.”

“Stiles,” Derek slurs through his fangs, squeezing Stiles a little tighter in his arms, not caring that Stiles called him a fuzzy blanket, he’s just _so_ happy to be with his mate.

Usually on full moons, Derek would often or not lock himself in his room and try to hide out for the whole day. Growling whenever Laura would drag him out to the woods to run around, it just hadn’t been the same.

Derek found himself on edge all the time and was looking over his shoulder often or all the time. The paranoia and worry eating away at him until he was crippled with anxiety. But now, it was different.

Everything feels stable, he feels _safe,_ and instead of wanting to hide the whole day, Derek wants to curl up with his mate, kiss Stiles all over and listen to his heartbeat.

 _So, not completely nonverbal_ , Stiles thinks to himself as Derek nuzzles and nips at his throat in a wolfish display of affection.

Stiles closes his book, lightly tossing it over to the table, and leaning back as Derek seems to try and fuse them together with how close Derek keeps tugging Stiles, squeezing Stiles against him.

"Want to go somewhere more comfortable, Der?" Stiles asks, stroking over Derek's hairy arm, and Derek rumbles deeply before suddenly moving, and Stiles almost yelps as Derek holds him much like a child would hold their pet, and Stiles' feet grazes Derek's as the wolf moves them out of the study.

Stiles isn't surprised by the fact that Derek takes them to their room, their den, and he's not surprised by Derek lightly tossing him onto the bed, still unmade from when they were last in it, and Stiles turns on his back just before Derek crawls on the bed and moves to cage Stiles against the bed with his body.

"Hey," Stiles says quietly, reaching up and stroking Derek's beard as his mate stares down at him with electric-blue eyes.

Derek's eyes flutter close as he presses his face more firmly into Stiles' hand, inhaling deeply through his nose and rumbling at the smell of them, _StilesandDerek_ , and _sex_.

He can feel the slight tug of the moon in his bones, his blood, despite it being _hours_ till nightfall and moonrise, he can feel the warmth of his mate under him and against his face, he can _smell_ them and sex, and Derek feels _safe_ , feels _happy_ , and he _wants_.

Derek groans as he drops himself down and onto Stiles, blanketing his mate with his body and heat, and immediately finds himself mouthing at Stiles' neck, wanting to bite down and _claim_ , wants to feel Stiles _in_ him, wants to roll over and _present_ , wants Stiles to _claim_ him while the moon warms his skin and calls for him to howl, to _fuck_ and be _fucked_ , to run and _hunt_.

He wants to howl his victory, wants to howl as _his mate_ fucks and _claims_ him.

Stiles is almost tempted to make a joke when Derek lies on top of him, tempted to joke about the older man’s growing erection but holds back when teeth nip at his throat.

“Der—“ he shivers when a tongue licks up his skin.

“Mine,” Derek grunts, squeezing his arms a little tighter as he holds Stiles still.

“Yeah, yeah. We all know who I belong to,” Stiles huffs, grinning when Derek makes a pleased noise and nuzzles him, His cheeks grow flush when he feels Derek’s hardon rub up against him again, “So—um, do you want me to take care of that for you?”

The werewolf freezes, and shivers at the words before pulling himself back a little.

“No. No, you don’t have to, Stiles. Sorry, I’ll calm down,” Derek cringes at himself, of course Stiles didn’t want to do anything like that right now. He’s probably annoyed with the fact Derek interrupted his reading time.

Stiles sits up slightly and reaches up to cup Derek's jaw, stroking his thumb against Derek's beard, and immediately makes soft shushing noises until Derek looks at him.

"Hey," Stiles says softly, taking in the impossibly coloured human eyes as Derek lost all signs of his shift in his sudden panic and backtracking. "I didn't mean anything by that, okay? Just wanted to know if you wanted me to do something, if you were okay with me touching you and making you feel good."

"I'm pushing," Derek argues, looking so guilty and ashamed that makes Stiles wish he could do something about the utter _shit_ Talia said to Derek growing up that makes him feel so guilty for just _wanting_ something.

"You're not," Stiles reassures him, but there's something stubborn, deeply rooted in Derek's guilt, and Stiles grabs one of Derek's hands—silently thankful that Derek's sat back on his hunches and making it easier for Stiles to grab it—and blushes as he places Derek's hand on his own hardon, biting his lip as Derek's eyes drop down. "See? I'm _totally_ not complaining about anything. Just, just tell me what you want Derek."

The heat is back in Derek's eyes, the expression of the older teen's face can only be called _hungry_ , and Stiles feels like he should be wearing red as the big bad wolf takes him in.

"I want to kiss you all over," Derek says, his voice dropping to something like a growl. "I want to feel all of you against me."

Derek bites the inside of his cheek to stop from letting the moon-inspired lust from taking over and making him say that he wants Stiles to fuck him, because he _knows_ it's the moon that makes he want to, and he wants their first time to be special and on their own terms, not driven by the moon.

Stiles swallows thickly, Derek watching Stiles' bruise-covered throat move, and his pupils expand until only a thin ring of amber is visible.

"Yeah," Stiles says hoarsely, roughly, in a tone that goes straight to Derek's cock. "We can do that."

It’s a good thing Stiles’ wasn’t wearing a shirt, because he’s pretty sure Derek would have torn it off of him as he tackled Stiles back to the bed.

“Mate. Mine. _Mine_ ,” Derek purrs, rubbing his beard against Stiles’ soft skin and pulling a gasp from Stiles when his nipples get rubbed against.

 _Okay, guess I have really sensitize nipples_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulder.

“Derek—“ Stiles moans, squeaking when the werewolf nips at one of his nipple. “Fuck, fuck— _shit_.”

Derek makes a pleased grunt as he feels Stiles’ erection rub against his abs, the teens legs are wrapped around his waist and giving him the perfect position to get off against Stiles’ ass.

“Wait—let’s—fuck. Let’s take off our clothes first,” Stiles makes a little whine at the end of his statement, giving Derek’s underwear a tug. “I really don’t want to be walking around with cum in my pants.”

“You mean _my_ pants,” Derek chuckles, but gives a sweet kiss to his mate before reluctantly pulling away.

There's nothing remotely sexy about the way Stiles pulls off the sweatpants, and he figures Derek only _looks_ sexy removing his boxers because Derek just _is_ sexy.

Stiles barely hears the thud of their clothes hitting the floor before Derek's pushing him back, Stiles' legs wrap around Derek's waist automatically as Derek sucks and nips at Stiles' nipples.

Stiles moans, _loudly_ , arching against Derek, and Derek rumbles as his cock rubs against Stiles' ass.

Derek grabs Stiles' hips to move him slightly, so Derek can properly fuck against Stiles' ass as he sucks on one of Stiles' nipples, groaning as he feels Stiles' blunt nails dig into his shoulders.

 _Mate, mine, mate, mine, mate, mine_ , his wolf chants with him as Derek fucks, moving his lips to suck bruises of Stiles' pale chest, loving the thought of Stiles covered in bruises the shape and size of his mouth as Derek claims him again and again, and he can _feel_ Stiles' cock getting steadily wetter against his abs, rubbing desperately up against Derek as the older teen fucks against his mate's ass.

" _Derek_ ," Stiles moans, sounding fucked out already, and Derek groans as he kisses up Stiles' chest and captures his lips, Stiles moaning into Derek's mouth as Derek growls.

 _We need to present to mate_ , his wolf tells him, and Derek whines at the idea of feeling Stiles' cock against his hole again, and he pulls away reluctantly.

" _Nooooo_ , don't stop," Stiles protests, flushed down to his chest, chest heaving, lips kiss swollen and red, and Derek groans.

"Want you to fuck against me," Derek almost has to grit the words out as he restrains himself from dropping back down and enjoying the _feast_ Stiles fearlessly and eagerly offers him.

" _Fuck_ , yes," Stiles pants, his dick twitching, and he releases his grip around Derek's waist with his legs.

Stiles thinks Derek's going to straddle him again, going to ride against Stiles' dick until he cums, but he's wrong, and _oh damn_ , Stiles loves it.

Derek rolls off him, and then balances on his hands and knees, his thick dick hanging between his legs and his balls looking full and heavy, and Derek _fucking_ well _presents_ his ass for Stiles to fuck against.

“Good god, you are gorgeous,” Stiles says without thinking about it.

Sitting up on his knees, Stiles runs his hand down Derek’s spine and whimpers a little when the werewolf pushes into the touch. He looks amazing like this, bent over and ass up like a trophy for Stiles.

“I—okay, this is gonna be weird, but can I rim you?” Stiles bites his bottom lip as he asks the question, already knowing that Derek might deny this.

Derek struggles with the thoughts going through his head. Stiles wants to—to _rim_ him? He wants to—? He doesn’t know how to feel about the whole thing, a part of him is interested and wants to nod his head and let Stiles do whatever he wants.

Another part...the other part of him rears its head back in disgust because what?

“Uh...sure,” Derek clears his throat, spreading his legs a little further and shaking when he feels Stiles’ hands give him a squeeze.

"Okay," Stiles feels like he's shaking as he spreads Derek's asscheeks open, exposing that pink pucker to the air, and Stiles swallows as he readies himself to do, something he's only seen in porn, and he just hopes that he isn't _completely_ bad at it.

Stiles starts with a board lick from Derek's balls up to his pucker, feeling Derek jerk underneath him with a bitten off curse.

"Is-is this okay?" Stiles asks, pulling back slightly, and Derek grips the sheets underneath him.

"Y-yeah," Derek answers after clearing his throat, not wanting to mention that he didn't know what to expect and Stiles startled him.

"Do you want me to stop?" Stiles asks, and Derek shakes his head.

Stiles wants to rim him, Derek isn't going to say no, not going to say anything against it, not when Derek could hear _and_ smell the increase in Stiles' lust when he asked.

"Okay," Stiles lowers his head, and Derek almost tenses as he waits for Stiles to do something only to let out a startled moan as Stiles places a _filthy_ kiss to Derek's pucker, tongue circling his hole and then pressing firmly against it until Derek feels the very tip of Stiles' tongue enter him.

Derek's head drops down as he groans, feeling Stiles' mouth suck against his pucker before fucking the tip of his tongue in, and Derek shudders as it feels _good._

It’s disgusting and filthy, but Derek gets off, nonetheless. He finds himself clinging to the sheets with white knuckles and pushing his hips backwards as Stiles’ practically makes out with his ass.

“Ooo—fuck,” Derek whines, his fangs dropping out from his jaw as he feels his wolf loose itself.

The shift takes over so quickly he doesn’t even realize he’s in his Beta shift until he heard sheets tearing. Stiles holds Derek’s ass open with his hands, lathering his tongue against the older man’s asshole and then pressing a kiss to it.

“Stiles— _Stiles_ ,” he whines, shaking under the touch.

Stiles shushes him like he’s calming a wild animal, “It’s okay, Der. You’re good. I got you, baby.”

Derek groans at the sweet caress the nickname gives him, his legs pushed further apart until his stomach is flat against the sheets and Derek moans when he hears the pop of the cap on the lube bottle open.

“Can I finger you? We don’t have to go that far if you aren’t ready,” Stiles strokes a hand down Derek’s spine.

Derek's head is fuzzy, everything centring down to where Stiles is touching, _had_ been working him open with his tongue, and Derek shudders against the sheets he's partly shredder with his claws.

His pucker is wet and a bit loose, his cock is leaking steadily between his spread legs, the head just rubbing against the bed, and Derek suddenly feels _empty_ as the question filters through his brain.

Derek remembers the other night, of fucking himself on his fingers as Stiles watched, as Stiles wrapped a hand around his cock, remembers the overwhelming _pleasure_ his own fingers brought him, and then he thinks about _Stiles_ ' fingers, slimmer but longer, of feeling part of _Stiles_ in him, and he whines with another shudder.

" _Please_ ," it's a breathless and shameless plea, it makes him flush at how _wanton_ and _needy_ he sounds, and perhaps he would have spiralled into shame at how Derek's _finally_ sounding like the whore he was, but Stiles groans, a punched-out sound, and lips brush down his spine in a trail of desperate kisses distracts him of _anything_ that isn't Stiles.

"I'm going to make you feel good," Stiles promises against his back, Derek feeling the shape of each word against his skin, the sound of him slicking up his fingers grabs most of Derek's focus, the obscene sound of lube being spread of Stiles' long and slender fingers, and Derek whines as he clenches down needily.

A cool wet finger circles his hole, a sharp contrast to the heat of Stiles' mouth earlier, and Derek almost jumps as Stiles' finger circles and runs over his pucker until it relaxes, and Stiles slides the first finger into him.

Derek whines, clenching down on that single digit, and almost _aches_ for more as Stiles strokes and moves in him in an almost questing motion, and then Stiles presses _there_ , and there's no stopping the howl escaping Derek's lips as he clenches down and rocks back against Stiles, whining breathlessly and panting wetly against the bed.

“Jesus, Der. Try to keep it down or we’ll wake up the whole house,” Stiles teases with a smirk on his lips.

He can’t explain it, but being able to have power over Derek, the ability to have this man come crumbling underneath him gives him a rush and Stiles bites against the side of Derek’s throat. The older man making a guttural noise deep in his throat as he bucks his hips and growls.

“They’re probably already awake,” Derek snarls, feeling his muscles twitch and spasm a little as he feels Stiles’ press up against that spot inside of him.

“Hmmm, then I guess it doesn’t matter how loud you are,” Stiles nips at Derek’s throat, grabbing a handful of Derek’s hair and giving it a little tug. “I wanna hear you make the neediest little moans, baby. Come on, Der. Show me how good you can be for me.”

“Please. _Please_ ,” Derek begs, “I’ll be good. I promise.”

"You're _so_ good," Stiles praises, nipping at Derek's shoulder as he presses against Derek's prostate, feeling his boyfriend shudder and whine underneath him.

Derek works his hips back, fucking himself on Stiles' finger desperately with a whine, wanting, no, _needing_ more.

"More," Derek snarls out, clawing at the sheets under him, and Stiles groans against his shoulder as he pulls his finger out to add a second finger.

Derek barely as time to protest Stiles removing his finger when it's back with a second one, stretching him open and then curling just _right_ , and Derek's howl is louder, desperate as he clenches down.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles gasps, pulling his body away from Derek and making the older teen feel cold, and then Stiles' free hand is squeezing at Derek's ass, spreading it so Stiles can watch the way Derek's body seems to _cling_ to his fingers, as if he hated losing _any_ bit of Stiles' fingers. "Fuck, you look so good, so fucking beautiful."

There's nothing, but awe and lust in Stiles' voice, and it makes Derek whine and shiver, arching as Stiles' keeps pressing against his prostate like it's his mission in life to make Derek cum from that alone.

And Derek thinks he _can_ cum from this alone, from having Stiles' fingers in him, fucking and pressing against his prostate. Derek can already feel his balls tightening, ready to cum, and he whines as he clenches down.

"Touch me," it's meant to be a command, but it comes out a plea, and Stiles immediately plasters himself against Derek, covering as much of his back as possible, and Stiles' fingers press in him _harder_ , relentlessly, as if Stiles could _sense_ how close Derek is, and is as desperate to see Derek come undone as Derek is _to_ cum.

Stiles sneaks his dry hand around Derek, his slightly rough hand barely grazes Derek's cock when Derek's tensing with a truly _deafening_ howl as he cums over the bed, his claws threatening to destroy the mattress.

 _"Fuck_ ," Stiles hisses above him.

Pulling his hand away from Derek’s dick, Stiles uses the cum on his hand as lube to jerk himself off, getting off to the sight of his fingers fucking Derek’s loose asshole, the werewolf writhing underneath him.

The wolf is in tethers as he moans and whimpers, feeling like all his nerves have been set on fire while Stiles keeps finger fucking him.

“Fuck, Derek. I’m so _close—ungh_ ,” Stiles grins behind him.

“Cum on me. I want you to mark me,” Derek begs, shaking under Stiles’ weight.

“Yes, yes, **yes** ,” Stiles cries out as he cums all over Derek’s back, the wolf groaning underneath him when the scent of his mate’s release hits his nose.

 _Mate has claimed us! Mate wants us!_ His wolf rejoices.

Derek whines as he cums harder, collapsing boneless against the bed as Stiles' fingers just keep moving in him towards the point of oversensitivity, and making Derek spasm and whimper weakly.

Stiles drops down half on Derek, not even grimacing at the feel of cum sticking them together, and he keeps moving his fingers in and out of Derek's loose hole, feeling Derek clench around him with a groan.

The feel of his mate against him, over him, weighing him down and anchoring him down, while still being _in_ him, it's amazing, it's wonderful, Derek never wants it to end, not when it brings so much contentment to him and his wolf.

" _Stiles_ ," Derek whimpers as Stiles' fingers curl and press against his prostate, an almost painful pleasure flooding him as Stiles keeps pressing and massaging _that_ spot in him.

Derek doesn't know if he wants Stiles to stop or keep going, his cock is already hardening again, and Derek _knows_ Stiles could make him cum again with what he's doing now.

"Do you want me to stop?" Stiles asks breathlessly, pillowing his cheek on Derek's back as he watches his fingers move in and out of Derek, the sight of it mesmerising to him.

“Only if you want me to cum for a third time,” Derek jokes, but then makes a strained noise when Stiles moves his fingers just right against his prostate. “ _Stiles_ —fuck.”

“I wonder how many times I could get you to cum on just my fingers. Four? Six times?” Stiles is only joking, but the idea makes his stomach warm.

“ _Stiles!_ ” Derek pants, clawing at the sheets again.

“Okay, okay, I got you, Der,” Stiles peppers the man’s throat with kiss before pulling back so he can remove his fingers.

Derek almost whines at the loss, but his body is already sore, so he lets them go.

“You did so good, Der. So good, baby,” Stiles kisses Derek’s beard, rubbing his lips against the tough texture of it.

Derek whimpers, turning his head so he can kiss Stiles.

"I'm going to get us cleaned up, okay?" Stiles asks as he pulls back from Derek's lips, and Derek frowns at the thought of Stiles leaving him, and Stiles presses another kiss to those pouty lips. "I'll be right back."

Derek doesn't pout as Stiles pulls away and climbs off the bed, just stretches out and enjoys the feeling of Stiles' cum against his back, the primal claim his mate did that makes his wolf howl joyously.

Derek listens to Stiles head to their bathroom, the slightly familiar sounds of Stiles grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with a rush of warm water though after washing his hands, and then Stiles is coming back over, kneeling on the bed.

Derek almost growls as the damp cloth wipes down his back, cleaning away Stiles' cum, but he bites back that reaction as he relaxes into the firm motions of Stiles cleaning his back and then his ass of both lube and cum.

"Turn over for me," Stiles requests, and Derek does, rolling away from the wet-spot of his own cum and the shredded remains of the sheet, and Stiles cleans up his stomach and still half-hard cock.

Derek arches slightly as Stiles' focus seems to narrow on his cock, his wolf preening at the spike of arousal Stiles gives off as he runs the warm and damp cloth up and down Derek's cock.

“We’re gonna have to change the sheets,” Stiles comments, staring at the torn up sheets with a look of something akin to smugness in his eyes.

“Later,” Derek tells him, grabbing the wet rag from Stiles’ hands and tossing it before pulling his mate down onto the bed with him.

He smirks at the little yelp Stiles makes, and waits as Stiles settles down so he’s practically sitting on Derek’s lap.

“Dude, I know you could probably go another three rounds but I’m already tired after one,” Stiles tells the werewolf.

“That’s okay,” Derek brings his arms up and pulls Stiles down on top of him, nosing at the soft place behind Stiles’ ear and turning them on their sides. “You smell so good now.”

“I smell like your jizz,” Stiles jokes.

Grinning, Derek squeezes at the soft flesh under his hand, “I know. That’s exactly why you smell good.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, “Are you saying I _don’t_ smell good all the time?”

A brief flash of panic enters Derek's eyes as he visible flounders at his words, and Stiles grins as he presses a kiss to Derek's lips, almost _feeling_ Derek's relief as he pulls Stiles closer, sliding his hands down to grip Stiles' ass.

"Silly wolf," Stiles teases as he pulls back, and Derek hums as he noses against Stiles' skin, brushing feather-light kisses against it, and Stiles runs his fingers through Derek's messy hair, feeling Derek's dick still half-hard against him. "You sure you don't want to do anything else?"

"God, please no," Jackson says from the open doorway, and Derek snarls as he twists them until Stiles is under him and covered completely by Derek's bigger body. "Weekends are meant for sleep ins, not being woken up by my brother having loud sex. Perhaps next time you can remember to shut the door, perhaps it'll help muffle the howls."

" _Oh god_ ," Stiles flushes as he buries his face against Derek's chest.

The reality of being overheard is _much_ different to how it felt when he had Derek under him, squirming and whining with every movement of Stiles' fingers.

Derek's chest rumbles with a growl, his eyes flashing to electric-blue, and he bares his fangs at his intruding little brother.

Jackson growls back, eyes flashing to gold, and his fangs lengthening until a hand smacks the back of his head and startles him out of his shift.

"Boys," Peter sighs, dressed in what Stiles believes is a _woman's_ red silk night robe, and probably little else considering the man. "I will ban you from Stiles for a _whole_ hour if you keep this up."

Twin almost canine whines escapes from the two young werewolves as they stare at their mother in disbelief.

Stiles scoffs, “God, you’re both babies.”

“You just don’t realize how much power you have over us yet,” Jackson points out. He looks like he wants to come over and cuddle, but the teen makes a face at the fresh scent of cum and turns away. “Can you guys like take a shower or something? It smells like a brothel in here.”

“No,” Derek answers, smirking when Jackson makes a little growl.

“You’re an animal,” the blonde growls, before leaving them in the room alone.

“Maybe we should take a shower,” Stiles ventures, but is immediately vetoed when Derek makes a growl. “Or I can just deal with this the rest of the day. That’s fine.”

“Sorry, just...having you smell like me makes my wolf calm down. I’m still adjusting to a lot of things,” Derek explains, splaying his hand over Stiles’ chest.

"So, having me smell like you," _and cum_ , Stiles silently adds, "is making you feel calm?"

"Yeah," Derek answers, leaning do to lick at Stiles' chest, rumbling as he tastes a hints of Stiles' cum there from when Stiles dropped on him earlier.

"And feeling other things too, huh," Stiles observes as his boyfriend gives his chest something like a tongue-bath, still pinning Stiles under his balk and covering him protectively.

Not that Jackson's interruption seems to have _any_ effect of Derek's dick, Stiles knows from the way the half-hard cock is pressed against him.

Derek hums, hoping that's enough of an answer, and sucks a bruise just above Stiles' nipple, almost preening as Stiles gasps and arches with a surprised moan under him.

"Still recovering," Stiles reminds his mate, though the way his dick is twitching, and hardening is saying something different, and Stiles drops his head back with another deeper moan as Derek lowers his mouth to take Stiles' nipple into his mouth, sucking on it until the little nub hardens, and he can gently bite it.

"Derek," Peter leans against the doorway, completely unfazed by what's happening in a way only a born werewolf could be. "I'll be starting breakfast, so don't start anything that can't be finished quickly."

Derek rumbles in answer, pulling back from Stiles' nipple and gazing down at his mate as if _Stiles_ was for breakfast, and Peter shakes his head with a smirk.

"Ah, to be newly mated and young," Peter says wistfully, deciding to shut the door and leave Derek to enjoy his mate.

He'll need to at least double the amount of breakfast today, werewolves were always their hungriest the day/night of the full moon.

“Der, come on. We need to get up,” Stiles pushes, getting up on his elbows and pressing a gentle kiss to Derek’s lips before pushing the man off.

“I guess,” the werewolf grins down at the sheets before giving it a shrug. He’ll deal with them later.

Shuffling over to the drawers, Stiles ends up pulling out a pair of Derek’s boxers and one of his own jeans and shirt. Derek follows behind with getting dressed though a little more begrudgingly than what he wants to, because all Derek wants to do is go back to cuddling his mate on their bed.

“So grumpy,” Stiles teases. “It’s okay, we can go back to cuddling later, Der.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jackson grumbles from the kitchen and Derek growls under his breathe.

Stiles isn't even surprised that Derek's version of dressed is just slipping on some boxers and jeans, leaving Stiles to deal with the very distracting sight of his boyfriend's hairy chest that tapers down into a treasure trail.

 _And what a treasure it leads to_ , Stiles can't help, but think, licking his lips slightly as he gaze drags down Derek's chest and to said treasure trail, the bulge visible in Derek's jeans due to how tight they are, and Derek preens when he senses his mate's eyes on him.

 _No, bad Stiles, breakfast_ , Stiles reminds himself sharply as he tugs on a t-shirt, sadly not a superhero one or even a generally nerdy one, but some plain dark navy t-shirt that looks dark against Stiles' light-coloured jeans, jeans that fit him snugly and probably shows off his junk.

Stiles stares suspiciously down at himself, trying to figure out if his junk is truly noticeable like _those_ skinny jeans.

Derek watches his mate with some amusement, moving over and plastering his chest against Stiles' back, "What are you doing?"

"Is my junk like _obscenely_ noticeable or just like a normal bulge?" Stiles asks him seriously, and Derek hides his smile against Stiles' throat as he hugs his mate from behind.

There's two snorts from the kitchen, obviously Peter and Jackson hearing Stiles' question.

"You're fine," Derek reassures him without looking, pressing a kiss against the bruise he placed almost directly over where the Mating Bite goes, feeling himself harden at the thought of one day biting down and _claiming_ Stiles, probably when the younger teen is fucking him.

Derek shudders, his hips rutting once against Stiles' ass as he thinks of Stiles over him, mouth open in pleasure, his cock fucking into Derek again and _again_ , and Derek leaning up to bite down, to _claim_ , and Stiles groaning as he fucks him _harder_ , waiting for Derek to pull back to return the favour before they kiss with blood-stained lips.

"Breakfast," Stiles reminds them breathlessly.

“Fine,” Derek gives a childish pout that Stiles ignores, not one to fall for the werewolf’s antics while Derek leaves him alone to go to the kitchen and help set the table.

* * *

“So what did you make for breakfast today?” Stiles says as he enters the kitchen, and turns to look at Peter.

“I made corn-beef hash, with waffles, bacon and some eggs to wrap all up,” Peter explains, finishing up with plating everything.

“What? Are you trying to feed an entire army?” Stiles jokes.

“No, just a bunch of teenage werewolves on the full moon,” Peter answers.

“Sounds about right,” Stiles snorts, finishing making coffee for him and Derek.

Stiles turns to place their mugs at their place at the table, pausing slightly as he notices Derek's chair has _'somehow'_ is right next to Stiles' instead of being a respectable distance, and Stiles doesn't even have to look at where Derek's studiously pretending to be innocent as he lays down the cutlery.

Stiles shakes his head with a smile as he takes his chair, placing Derek's mug on the coaster in front of Derek's empty chair, and hides how his smile grows behind the rim of his mug as Derek preens slightly when he notices Stiles hasn't done anything about the chair.

 _Puppies, overgrown puppies_ , Stiles thinks as Jackson's chair boxes him in on the other side, the blonde slipping into the chair and then crossing his arms over his chest defiantly as he stares at Derek.

"So, Stiles knows how to make someone howl between the sheets," Allison teases, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and still dressed in her pyjamas, and her dark brows waggle at him suggestively across the table.

"Which means Jackson's fantasies of Stiles reducing him to a crying mess isn't that far-fetched after all," Lydia muses almost idly without looking away from the fruit salad Peter must have prepared the girls to munch on while Peter cooks the rest of the food, and Stiles chokes on his coffee.

"Breakfast," Chris interrupts firmly as he comes over with two plates from Allison and Lydia, a slight blush peeking out of the growing scruff along his jaw and cheeks, and Derek is completely shameless in the way he preens as he follows behind while somehow carrying three plates in a way Stiles thought only waiters could do.

"Let them have fun," Peter chides as he comes over with two plates for himself and Chris, smirking at his flustered mate. "Remember, they _are_ teenagers."

"And talking about sex _and_ even having sex in front of the Pack is perfectly normal in werewolf culture," Stiles says almost absently as he eagerly cuts into his breakfast. "Like, werewolves are _majorly_ open about things, and they hardly ever lie, like _ever_. They'll not tell the whole truth, or bend the truth slightly, or say something to let you read in your own meaning to their words, but lying? They just don't do that."

"Why?" Lydia asks, leaning forward with a curious frown, popping one last grape in her mouth before she eats the hot breakfast Peter cooked them.

"We can tell when someone is lying," Peter informs her, glancing at how his oldest son is focusing more on his food and mate—two very important things to a werewolf with the moon heating their blood—and noticing the rest of the table is looking various degrees of curious. "The slight skip of the heart, the increased sweat, we can scent _and_ see all the signs that scream someone is lying, so why bother to lie? You learn growing up in a Pack how to hide things, how to add different meanings to your words without lying, and things like that."

"So, does that mean Chris knew you were sixteen from the start?" Jackson asks with a slight scowl, having not forgotten the little detail that Peter let slip, the fact at his mom—a title that fits the older man so well, and something he's found easier to accept then he first suspected—had been only _sixteen_ to Chris' twenty when they first met and had sex.

"No," Peter says simply, cutting into his waffles, and not unaware of Chris' slightly flinch and spike of shame. "This is where not saying the whole truth, and such comes in. We met in a club, a gay club of course, and Christopher assumed that meant I was at least in my earlier twenties—an assumption that many men believed before Christopher and an assumption that I allowed to stay for a while. I had just found my mate, an older man, and I didn't want to come off as silly little boy doing things he shouldn't be."

“So you lied to him the entire time you were together?” Jackson’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“From the start yes, but then I finally told him the truth when I realized I didn’t want to end things. And we had to work through a lot of things. It hurt to even fathom the thought of lying to my mate the entire time we were together,” Peter explains, hoping to calm the fire burning inside of Jackson’s eyes.

Not that telling the truth did much since their relationship had ended horribly.

But the past is the past and Peter wants to quickly move forward.

Just wanting to forget but never forgive, no Peter had a special plan for all his tormentors in the past.

"To be fair, I was lying too," Chris says, hand sliding over Peter's and breaking him from his suddenly dark thoughts before they could get even darker. "I was lying to myself, lying to Peter about what I did, so I didn't really have any grounds to feel betrayed."

"But part of you did," Lydia says knowingly, a shrewd look in her eyes, and Chris looks vaguely chagrined at being called out, but nodded his head.

It hadn't helped matters that everything they had been hiding from each other came out at the same time.

Chris had been young, eager, flushed from a successful hunt and eager to get to what he had come to think as _their_ room.

He hadn't stopped to shower, figured he would shower at the hotel, and he had walked into their room, armed and smelling of wolfbane.

He can remember how they both reacted on instinct, Peter attacking the threat to their den, and Chris pulling a gun on the werewolf snarling at him in their room—neither thinking clearly, and neither had realised who the other was until it had almost been too late.

It had only been shock and disbelief that stopped the other from killing the other, Peter's claws had been at his throat and Chris' gun had been pressed against Peter's heart.

Chris can still hear the utter horror and disbelief in Peter's questioning _, "Christopher?"_ and he can remember the total shock seeping through his bones as golden eyes and fangs faded away to show _his_ Peter, standing in front of him, looking horribly young and fragile.

The two of them had had a _long_ conversation, Peter sitting on the other side of the room with all of Chris’s guns and knives because he hadn’t trusted the man to play nice. Chris spent the whole night apologizing—and that meant the _whole_ night because Chris pulling a gun on Peter was unforgiveable.

Peter had also apologized for attacking Chris, but he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to the scent of wolfbane. And to smell it on his mate no less? Peter had been so distraught at the time, but he stayed, and he was happy he did so.

Shaking himself from his past thoughts, Chris finishes up with the hot breakfast laid out for him, giving Peter’s thigh a squeeze so he can let his lover know how much he loves him.

The werewolf preens under the touch like the youthful teenager he once was before masking that away.

“Let’s not talk about what happened in our past. Things have changed and I’m a different man than I was before,” Chris deduces.

Jackson huffs slightly, still not happy with the fact _his mom_ had only been sixteen, but Lydia gives him a look over the table, and Jackson grumpily turns back to his plate, pouting as he realises how empty it had already become.

Peter chuckles slightly, getting up, and stroking Jackson's messy bedhead, and resisting the urge to press a motherly kiss to Jackson's hair, not sure if they were at that stage in their relationship yet, "Don't worry, I cooked enough to keep you full until lunch."

Jackson almost beams as he hands his plate to Peter, and Peter smiles as Derek looks up from his empty plate with pleading eyes.

"And you too, Pup," Peter chuckles, not resisting the urge in pressing a kiss to Derek's hair, delighting in being able to bestow all the affection he wants on his pup without anyone stopping him or hurting him later for it.

There's no Talia watching with hatred in her eyes, no claws digging into his arm and a hissing voice reminding him that Derek is _her_ son. There's no Robert watching him, that ever present hunger in his gaze and perverse sense of affection that only deepens as Peter tried to dote about _their_ son—Robert had always reminded him of that, had always sounded so proud as _he_ spoke of _their_ son, and _he_ had lamented that they couldn't have more.

Peter forces his thoughts away before they could wander further down that past, not wanting to think about those times when it's the first full moon with both of his sons.

"Mom?" Derek questions, concern clear in his gaze, and Peter smiles in a hopefully reassuring way, wanting to soothe his pup's worry.

Derek's always been a sensitive soul, sweet and gentle, and Peter wishes he had been able to protect Derek properly from Talia _and_ Kate, instead of standing by and watching powerlessly.

Loathed though Peter is to admit, Robert _had_ been a relatively good father to Derek.

"I'm fine," Peter reassures, once against jerking his thoughts away, and taking Derek's plate.

Stiles glances around the table trying to judge the eerie mood everyone seems to be in, but is stopped from asking questions when Lydia is dragging him out of his seat and to the living room.

“I want to get in some more research on banshees before the puppies snatch you away from me,” she claims as she continues to drag him further into the apartment, “Besides I’m sure Peter and Chris’ _kids_ should learn to actually spend time with one another. After all, family is important to werewolves.”

She closes the doors to the library and Stiles raises an eyebrow at her, but is interrupted when she speaks again.

“Peter already told me this room is soundproof so feel free to talk about whatever you want in here,” she explains.

“Oh...um, I don’t really have anything to talk about I was just going to ask—“

“Do you think I’d be a horrible person if I asked Allison out?”

Stiles blinks at Lydia, the usually confident teen looking somewhat unsure.

"Only if you don't break up with Jackson first," Stiles finally says, and Lydia frowns slightly at him.

"You're not surprised," Lydia points out, and Stiles frowns back at her.

"Because it's kind of obvious?" Stiles asks more than says, and Lydia's eyes widen with panic.

"Do you think she _knows_?" Lydia asks in a panicked hiss, and Stiles doesn't know what to do with a panicked Lydia Martin. "Stiles! Do you think she knows?"

"Does it matter if you are going to ask her out?" Stiles asks with some confusion, because surely it's a good thing that the person you liked liked you back?

"What if she says yes because I've been really obvious and it's a pity yes?" Lydia demands, and Stiles squints at her in disbelief.

"There's _no way_ in _any_ universe that _anyone_ would give you a pity yes," Stiles tells her firmly, grabbing her shoulders and trying to impact his words deep inside her mind. "You are Lydia Martin, Queen of Beacon High School, future winner of the Nobel Prize or Fields' Medal or whatever, and an amazing goddess send down to show what us mere mortal only hope to be. _Anyone_ would be lucky to have you, and Allison knows that, I mean, it's pretty obvious she likes you too."

"She does?" Lydia looks uncertain before firming, confidence sliding back on like she never had an insecure teenage girl moment—those moments were for _other_ girls. "I mean, of course she does."

Stiles grins at Lydia’s wavering confidence, “So did you really just invite me for girl talk?”

“No. Well, some of it, but I did want you here to do some more research and didn’t want to get interrupted by a certain someone,” Lydia explains, pulling out the books she already had pulled out the other day.

“Well, I guess this’ll give me some time to study up on magic as well,” Stiles sighs, opening up the book Lydia hands him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Derek stares at the door to where Lydia had pulled _his_ mate away from him. He wasn’t pouting, Derek was just a little upset he didn’t get to spend more time with his mate.

_He wasn’t pouting._

“So …” Allison starts, staring at the other two boys in the living room with her. “Do you guys want to watch a movie? Or...”

"Does Peter even _have_ DVDs in here?" Jackson asks as he glances around the shelves upon shelves of books dominating two walls of the living room.

Allison's face brightens and she moves other to the trunk-turned-coffee-table, "Check this out."

Jackson's eyebrow raises as he watches Allison collect the wooden coasters—all the same wood as the heavy Peter has everywhere in the penthouse—and places them on the floor with the few books left from last night before flipping up the top of the trunk—the glass top firmly bolted to the top of the trunk and not moving—and revealing several lines of DVDs and two rolled-up fuzzy blankets hiding in the depths of it.

"He has a thing about hiding things in plain sight, doesn't he?" Jackson questions, and Derek snorts in agreement as he finally tears his gaze away from door.

"I spent half my childhood in this apartment, I'm sure I haven't found _half_ of all mom's hidden places and rooms," Derek tells them dryly as Allison browses the collection of DVDs with a small and focused frown.

"He must have spent over a million dollars to get this place to his liking," Jackson shakes his head in some awe.

His parents are rich, but they would still balk at spending as much as Jackson suspects Peter did on their place.

Peter already lived in _the_ most expensive apartment building in Beacon Hills, and Jackson bets he bought the penthouse outright to change it to his liking and still have it despite being in a coma for six years.

Jackson supposes there's more truth to the Hale's once owning the whole of Beacon Hills because some founding family pride and all that, they certainly had the money for it.

"Nothing too loud or filled with explosions, Allison," Peter says as he enters the living room with Chris, the dish cleaned and put away. "Our senses are more sensitive and heightened on the day of the full moon."

“Sure thing, Peter,” Allison gives him a dimpled smile before pulling out Lilo & Stitch.

Jackson glares at Derek, unable to hold his wolf back when it snarls at the older teen. Derek rolls his eyes at the teenager, his own wolf just huffs at Jackson. The kid is just a puppy to him and not a threat at all.

“This was my favorite movie growing up,” Allison tells them as she goes to sit down in the only spot left on the couch.

“I’m pretty sure my favorite movie was the Winnie the Pooh one,” Derek admits, scratching at his neck as he thinks back on his childhood.

"Yes, your favourite character was Eeyore, you thought he just needed more hugs," Peter remembers with a smile as he leans into Chris' side, knowing he's not ready to have even Chris against his back.

Derek flushes slightly, somewhat glad that Stiles isn’t here to hear this. He’d probably find it adorable, and do his best to find Eeyore things to gift Derek, and no doubt, Jackson would snicker and mock him about it.

"What about you?" Allison asks Jackson, leaning against Derek's arm after a questioning look that Derek nods at, still amazed that people other than Stiles and Peter cares about his comfort when it came to touch.

Jackson bites his lip slightly as he watches TV for a moment, the trailers for other movies playing before he answers, "The Great Mouse Detective."

He doesn't add that for a long time it was Stiles' favourite, that it only truly became Jackson's favourite through Stiles as Stiles _always_ wanted to watch it.

"Oh! I loved that too," Allison smiles, a full on dimple smile that Jackson can see why it makes Lydia blush. "What was Stiles' favourite?"

Derek perks up slightly, trying not look too interested in case Jackson doesn't answer out of some normal little sibling spite, and Jackson flushes slightly.

"Let me guess," Peter teases gently with a smile. "The Great Mouse Detective?"

“Maybe,” Jackson gives a shrug, ignoring the snort he receives from Peter.

“Of course,” Derek rolls his eyes before going quiet when the movie begins.

Allison pulls a blanket over herself and chuckles when Derek pulls some of the blanket over his legs.

“My feet are cold,” he argues.

“Sure,” Allison glances at her phone as if she’s expecting a text from Scott but then remembers they’re broken up.

She puts her phone back into her pocket, so she can pay attention to the movie.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a Disney movie in a long time,” Derek comments, remember the last time he did so he was annoyed because he had wanted to hang out with his friends, and not babysit his little sister, but now he wishes more than anything he could have had that moment again.

 _Cora_ , Derek thinks with a sudden ache to his chest, a grief six-years-old and yet still as fierce as the night he came home to ash and death, the scent of _her_ perfume in the air as a calling-card that told Derek that it was _his_ fault.

She would have just turned seventeen, would have been the same age of Allison and Stiles—at least until Stiles turned eighteen, Derek really needs to know when his birthday is—and Derek knows she would have settled right in with the Pack.

Cora had always been close to Peter, always considered Peter one of her favourites, and Talia's obvious disapproval had never cowed Cora like it did the rest of the Pack.

No, Derek's little sister had always been too headstrong, too stubborn, to bow her head on things and people she considered important, and to Cora? Peter _and_ Derek were important.

Cora hadn't had the closest relationship with Laura, too many years between them maybe, Derek didn't know, or it could have been that it was obvious that Laura had been Talia's favourite while Cora, well, Cora had been headstrong and a wild thing.

She'd run bare-foot through the Preserve, pretend to stalk the local wildlife, and came back with pockets bugling with everything she thought interesting or pretty.

Cora always found it hard to act the part of human, struggled almost as much as Derek himself, and wonders if _that_ was one of the reasons Talia seemed so disappointed with Cora, that her daughter was so like the bastard she had taken in to cover the shame of her husband being a _rapist_.

Derek wonders what Cora would think of Stiles, would think of Derek's mate, and he wonders how she'd have taken the truth of their family, of Peter being Derek's mother, and of the pups that had been stolen right from Peter's mind, hidden and given away from him.

Jackson’s nose twitches when he smells the scent of sadness coming off of Derek.

It’s a bit harder to describe than the other emotions are but when Jackson smells it, he feels a part of himself drawn to the sadness. He’s not a hugger—okay, that’s a little bit of a lie.

Jackson loves cuddles, but only with people he’s known for long time, and right now he wants to hug Derek because he can smell the older teen is upset.

But Allison is between them and he doesn’t want to make things awkward.

The scent muffles itself after a moment and Jackson’s eyebrows scrunch together as he tries to figure out how Derek was able to mask the scent. It must be another werewolf thing he has yet to learn.

Turning his body so he can press against Allison’s side, Jackson throws his arm over the couch to pay Derek’s shoulder, startling the man from his thoughts and having him turn to give Jackson a raised eyebrow.

 _’You okay?’_ Jackson mouths.

Derek nods his head and leans away from the touch.

Jackson doesn't get offended, not really, because he has seen the way Derek is about touch, the way the others always give him time to pull away or accept their touch, or how they question if it's okay.

The only touch that Derek really seems to enjoy, to not stiffen or become slightly awkward with, is from Peter and Stiles. Which, Jackson supposes, makes sense as one is his mom, and the other is his mate.

It's strange though, Jackson will only privately admit to himself and maybe Lydia, because Jackson has only been a werewolf a day, and he's already found himself touching others—Stiles, Lydia and sometimes Peter—more than before.

Jackson has always been a bit more touchy with his friends than is apparently normal or acceptable, had limited it to Lydia as his girlfriend and Danny as his best friend after McCall stole Stiles—Stiles who never cared how much Jackson clung to him or complained about it, just clung back or did other things with Jackson attached to him—and will never admit to how much he's enjoying being able to touch Stiles again.

(And no, it's not just because his lingering crush on Stiles. _It's not._ )

There is something grounding in touching them, something that makes him settle, and now he can _smell_ his scent lingering on them, claiming them as his and important, and that settles him more, and Jackson can't really imagine what it's like to shy away from touch, doesn't think he could cope.

Jackson has watched Peter, watched as the older man reaching out to touch, and while Peter mostly touches Chris—leaning against him, holding his hand, placing a hand on his knee or thigh—he also reaches out for Stiles and Derek almost as often—fingers running through hair or rubbing against shorn hair, a hand on the shoulder, a glancing brush against the throat, a forehead kiss—and to Allison in a slighter degree—a tug to her curls, a kiss to the top of her head, a curl of a hand around her shoulder.

It's a werewolf thing, a Pack thing.

A thing that Jackson is being pulled in with every touch to his shoulder, a hand rubbing over his hair, a tug into a short hug, and it makes something in him whine in distress and snarl in anger that someone has _ruined_ that for Derek, that has made him cautious of every touch even amongst Pack.

Pulling his hand back, Jackson glances over at his older brother again before looking back at the movie.

He never knew so much wrong could happen to one person and yet he had met two people who had been treated so horribly all their life.

Jackson made a silent vow to himself that he was going to make Derek and Peter happy.

He wasn’t going to let _anyone_ come in their lives again and ruin it.

He had just gotten his family and he wasn’t going to let anyone take it from him. Just like with Stiles.

Stiles had been his best friend since growing up, taken away from him because of Scott and now he’d finally gotten him back.

Maybe not in the way his thirteen-year-old-self wanted—since his past-self wanted Stiles in the way that he could kiss the other boy and hold him—and even though a part of him still didn’t think Derek was good enough for his best friend he wasn’t going to fight....okay, that was a lie he was going to put up a fight.

Jackson couldn't help it, not really, not when he's been in love with Stiles since he was thirteen, not when Stiles was responsible for his first wet dream, not when Stiles had been there for him growing up before McCall came to town with his puppy-eyes, bright grin, and complete lack of knowledge of who Claudia Stilinski was, and how important she was.

Jackson wants to fight, wants to cry out about how unfair this was, that it was bad enough that Derek had swooped in and taken mere _days_ away from the silly little date that Jackson had hoped may have ended up with Stiles in bed with him or at _least_ making out with him, but the fact that Derek is his _brother_? So _fucking_ unfair.

But he knows if he did put up a real fight, if he did throw himself into fighting for Stiles, that he wouldn't win because Stiles is insanely loyal to the people he cares for, to the people he loved, and Jackson could have been blinded and deaf, and he _still_ would know that Stiles loves Derek.

And Jackson isn't a complete and utter asshole nor is he heartless, and Jackson remembers what Peter said about mates. Derek is _his_ brother, _his_ family, and Jackson wasn't going to do something that could make him feel like Stiles is rejecting him.

He'll be annoying, he'll push a bit, and he'll be clingy, but he won't properly fight, not with the risks so high.

“Will you quit thinking so hard?” Derek huffs from where he’s seated in the couch. “I can hear you from over here.”

“No you can’t,” Jackson snaps back, already happy to step into his shoes for being the annoying sibling. “You’re just being a baby.”

“Oh please, you smell like burnt toast. Maybe you should stop thinking so hard, it’s gotta hurt that blonde head of yours,” Derek rolls his eyes.

“The only thing that’s about to hurt is your face after I’ve—“

“Boys,” Peter interrupts them both, “I know the full moon is close, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to act like pups. So behave yourselves.”

“Yes, mom,” both of them say in unison, glaring at the other afterwards while Allison giggles.

Allison grins, stuck between her two brothers— _brothers!_ She had _brothers_ now!—and feeling a sense of almost giddiness in her as Jackson huffily messes with the blanket until it's spread over the three of them, and Allison takes the chance to twist and shift until she's lying against Derek's side with her legs curled over Jackson's lap.

Derek barely stiffens when she moves—something she feels proud about as that meant he's getting used to her touch—and Jackson just huffs again as he settles the blanket, but Allison isn't fooled by his put-out expression as one of Jackson's hands falls absently down to curl over one of her ankles almost protectively.

Allison wonders what they look like all squeezed together with her still in her pyjamas, Derek just wearing jeans—and yeah, Stiles may have a point about Derek's jeans being at least a size too small—and Jackson in boxers and a t-shirt he threw on to be half-way decent.

She knows her mother would be horrified, not just by how easily Allison fits herself between two werewolves and not care, but also by the fact that Allison hadn't gotten dressed before leaving her room for breakfast.

Pyjamas, in the Argent house, were to worn solely to bed, and Allison had been expected to be dressed properly even during the weekends.

Pyjamas here though? Pyjamas could be worn at any time, and no one would bat an eye.

Peter is _still_ only wearing a red silk kimono-style night robe over boxers, Dad had only pulled on what Allison is certain is a pair of Peter's sweatpants—and they _really_ need to either figure out a way to get the rest of the stuff from the Argent house or go shopping because there had only been so much room in the duffle bags, and Allison had packed several things that were _important_ (like Dad's lockbox) that took up room—and only Stiles is properly dressed by people's standards as even _Lydia_ stayed in her pyjamas.

Hell, Derek walked around _naked_ yesterday.

She still had to get used to the fact werewolves like to just walk around naked.

It was a little weird in her opinion, but then again she had just found herself with two brothers. Her dad is apparently gay, and Allison isn’t as straight as she thought she was.

And she was okay with how things were changing, excited even.

Allison startles when a snort came to her right where Derek is sitting as he laughed at a silly joke on the movie.

Derek leaned a little against her and when she didn’t feel him tense up or anything, Allison leans against his side. The older man gives her a look before turning his attention, not bothered at all that she’s leaning against him.

Allison smiles to herself as she leans against her older brother while her younger brother—and Jackson _truly_ fits the image of being a bratty younger brother, she muses—absently strokes at her ankle and props himself up against the armrest of the couch.

There's a quiet murmur from where Peter and Chris are sitting, Chris' arms wrapped firmly around Peter as if he never wants to let go, and Peter leaning sideways against Chris' chest with a soft smile that Allison prefers seeing on his face as it's so much better than that distance and dark look he sometimes gets when his thoughts run away from him.

Thankfully, it seemed like her dad only had to touch Peter, to remind him of the now, and those thoughts drift away.

There hadn't been another break-down like that first night from either of the Hale's, no nightmares causing them to howl like they are being tortured.

No, the only howl that's woken Allison up is apparently Derek's sex howl.

Allison can't help the snigger escaping her as she remembers the absolutely disgusted and frustrated noise that escaped Jackson when they were startled awake by the first howl.

Allison had been worried, had immediately flashbacked to that first night, and Derek howling in his nightmare, and then Jackson just stared up at the ceiling flatly before speaking:

 _"I can_ ** _hear_** _them having sex,"_ Jackson had said with a very put-out voice. _"I've changed my mind, I don't want to be a werewolf anymore."_

 _I wish Stiles was here_ , Derek thinks to himself forlornly, watching as Stitch causes mayhem at the little party.

He’s selfish, he’ll admit to that. He really wants Stiles here so he can hold his mate. Kiss him. Touch him.

Derek just knows he’s not going to be able to last the rest of the school year having to wait for Stiles to come home all day, alone in his room.

He’ll have to think of something, or else he’s going to die of boredom.

 _God, I’m needy_ , Derek frowns at himself.

Derek never thought of himself as a needy person, he never thought he would want _anything_ enough for him to become needy, and he didn't think he _deserved_ anything.

Derek still doesn't think he deserves Stiles, doesn't deserve to have a mate at all, but for some reason, Derek has been given the gift of finding his mate, and his mate actually _wants_ him.

Stiles _wants_ Derek.

Fucked-up, broken Derek Hale, and he doesn't just want him for his body, no, Stiles wants Derek for _Derek_ , and that's something that still baffles and frightens him.

He's still half-certain they are going to wake up one day, and Stiles will look at Derek and _finally_ see how fucked up he is, how broken he is, and realises that he can do so much _better_ than Derek.

Derek thinks he'll handle the pain of being rejected easier, it'll have none of the uncertainty of actually being in a relationship, and Derek is _used_ to pain, to feeling like a part of him has been clawed out and the wounds won't heal completely, still bleeding sluggishly and throbbing in agony.

The _emptiness_ of the Pack he grew up in—even pushed to the side-lines as he had been—still throbbed if he thought about, worried at it like a sore tooth, and the space that had been _Laura's_ for as long as he can remember is deafening silent and _gone_ , weeping bloody grief if he takes a moment to think about it.

But Peter is back, their bond tighter and brighter, and almost singing with the love that Peter— _his mom_ —feels for him, and Derek's breathing hitches every time he tests the bond, the bond of _Alpha, Mother, Pack_ that fills in almost _all_ the emptiness of _before._

And then there is _Stiles._

Wonderful, amazing, _beautiful_ Stiles, a bond that shines as bright as the sun, that wraps around him tightly like the warmest hug, that sings of _Mate, Us, Forever_ in a way that makes Derek want to shake, want to press against Stiles and shake at the sheer force of emotion Stiles already feels for _him_.

* * *

Stiles comes out of the library later on, yawning a little as he walks over to the living room.

He pauses momentarily when he sees all of the Hale’s and Argents sitting on the couches together watching Lilo & Stitch.

Walking over to the couch where Derek is laying almost sideways, leaning down and wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders so he can press a kiss to his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Hey grumpy,” he says cheekily, earning a grunt from the werewolf.

“Stiles,” the werewolf says excitedly, like a puppy waiting for its meal to be set down before it.

“Did you miss me?” Stiles only says it as a joke but he’s not expecting Derek to pull him over the couch and into his arms. “Woah! Okay—uh, I wasn’t expecting this. Hi.”

He says the last part a little awkwardly as he pats Derek’s arm.

Derek pulls him closer, nuzzling against Stiles' neck with a sigh of relief as he takes in the scent of his mate, the scent of _StilesandDerek_ with the lingering scent of sex that goes straight to his cock.

" _Seriously_?" Jackson groans as he presses against the armrest of the couch, nose scrunching slightly as he smells _his brother's_ arousal spiking.

Allison giggles slightly, shifting over and away as Derek twists and pulls until Stiles is under him, Derek caging Stiles against the couch with his body, and the blanket slipping.

"This is ours now," Jackson informs his distracted brother, pulling the blanket until it's only covering Allison and himself, and tries to focus on the movie as Derek leans down to kiss his mate.

Stiles, in hindsight, should have been expecting _this_ , but well, he's still getting used to the whole werewolf boyfriend/mate, and he didn't really just how _much_ effect the moon had on Derek until he's pinned under his giant of a boyfriend, and can _feel_ just how much Derek missed him as the older teen kisses him eagerly.

And then, well, Stiles' brain sort of short-circuits whenever Derek kisses him, and it _especially_ does when Derek grinds down against him like he is, and Stiles is truly helpless to do anything that isn't groaning into the kiss, kissing back just as eagerly, and his hands can't help but grab _that_ amazing ass in a way that makes Derek's hips buck against him.

" _Seriously_?" Jackson questions again in disbelief. "In front of Lilo and Stitch? _Really_?"

Pulling back, Stiles strokes the side of Derek’s face before reaching up to pull a blanket down over the both of them. He doesn’t even care that the movies almost over as he cuddles against his boyfriend, twisting them so they aren’t in such a compromising position.

“Cuddle wolf,” Stiles kisses up Derek’s chin and jawline, humming when the werewolf holds him closer.

“Disgusting,” Jackson jokes, earning a glare from Derek.

“Shut up, Jackson. You can get cuddles later.”

“No,” Derek growls.

“Don’t even, I’ve been waiting all weekend for my Stiles time. And you’re not going to get in the middle of it,” Jackson growls, flashing gold eyes.

"Boys, do not make me come over there," Peter warns, that mom tone clear in his voice, and Stiles sniggers as both teens still and grumpily turn their attention back to the TV.

Derek nuzzles against Stiles, not bothering to be discreet with the deep inhales he takes of Stiles' scent, and buries his face against Stiles' neck, peeking one eye out to watch the ending of Lilo and Stitch, and that's it.

Stiles almost wants to coo at the adorable picture that Derek is making, but contents himself with running his fingers through Derek's hair, dragging his nails along Derek's scalp, and causing his wolf to rumble and almost purr as he goes boneless against Stiles with a sigh as Stiles' other arm wraps around Derek's middle.

Peter casts one stern eye over his two pups before settling more firmly against Chris, feeling his mate squeeze him even closer and press a kiss to Peter's hair.

The door of the library shutting is the only warning the humans have that Lydia has left the library, and she enters the living room, and gives a look around before moving to where Allison and Jackson are taking up one end of the couch.

Allison smiles at Lydia, moving away from Jackson, and letting Lydia slip between them, re-throwing the blanket over the three of them as the movie comes to an end.

"So, are we watching another movie? Or what?" Stiles asks, because he'd be happy to have a lazy and peaceful Sunday until Scott arrived with all the tension and issues he brings.

Stiles feels a bit guilty for thinking that way about his best friend, but Scott had sort of brought it upon himself by becoming such a dick.

“We might as well. Not like we have anything else planned for the day until nightfall comes,” Peter states, getting comfortable in his seat while the kids all pile on the couch.

“Great. That means we have all the time today to watch the entire Star Wars series,” Stiles says with giddiness in his voice.

“Oh, I haven’t those movies since I was a little girl. I think it would be fun to watch them with everyone,” Allison smiles.

“I suppose I could watch some of it without wanting to criticize every character,” Lydia looks down at her finely polished nails.

“Awesome!” Stiles immediately jumps up, much to Derek’s disappointment, and goes over to the DVD player so he can pull out the movies, already spotting the entire box collection and snickering at how much of a nerd Peter is.

If the Star Wars box collection wasn’t a dead giveaway, then the entire Star Trek series might have been. Or maybe the Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and various other movie collections the older man had on the shelves under the TV.

Jackson stands up as well and leaving Allison and Lydia down the other side of the couch so he can get in some “Stiles Time” while they watch the movies. Giving a smirk to Derek as the older man glares at him with irritation in his eyes.

Derek scoots over, so he's leaning against the armrest and crossing his arms over his chest as he scowls at his brother as Jackson settles on the other side of Allison, leaving a gap for Stiles.

"Hey," Stiles glances over his shoulder, trying to figure if he should put the discs on in timeline order or release order. "Do you want to change into some sweatpants or something? Be comfortable for movie day?"

Derek frowns slightly as he thinks about it.

On the one hand, sweatpants _would_ be more comfortable and give him more room if he gets another hardon, and it means one less layer between him and Stiles considering he could ditch his boxers.

On the other hand, it involved moving and leaving the room, leaving time for Jackson to monopolise Stiles.

"Do you want to borrow some sweatpants too?" Derek asks hopefully, knowing if he says yes then Derek can get him away from Jackson attempting to move in on _his_ Stiles time, _and_ he could probably convince Stiles to just wear sweatpants without boxer which removes _another_ layer between them.

Stiles glances down at his own clothes and makes a face, “Yeah, I probably should. Jeans aren’t meant for all day couch lounging.”

Derek holds back the burst of excitement he gets and his urge to smile, while Jackson smells of irritation next to him.

“Fucker,” Jackson mutter under his breath.

“Don’t start the movies without us!” Stiles calls as he runs over to Derek’s room and plunders through Derek’s clothes. “Man, we definitely need to get you new clothes that fit you and not me.”

“Okay,” Derek says softly, not caring at all about the clothes at the moment as he watches Stiles go through his clothes before pulling a pair of black sweatpants out.

“You just gonna stand there?” Stiles teases, pulling off his own pants and slipping into the sweats.

“And watch the show? Yes,” Derek holds back on the urge to drag Stiles to bed right this very moment.

Stiles snorts as he finishes pulling the sweats up, Derek internally pouting that he didn't have the chance to convince him to remove his boxers, and then Stiles is turning to him with another pair of sweatpants.

"Come on, Der," Stiles says as he holds of the sweatpants, and Derek reaches down to undo his jeans, slipping down both his jeans and boxers in one go, and preening as Stiles' gaze drops and he swallows thickly. "Oh, _that's_ unfair."

Derek pulls his feet from the tangle of jeans and boxers, and he knows he's fallen into a stalk by the way Stiles' arousal thickens as Derek moves over to Stiles.

Derek wants to groan as Stiles' arousal thickens and mixes _wonderfully_ with the lingering smell of sex, and Derek's hands move almost without his permission to Stiles' hips, and he drags his mate close to him, the sweatpants dropping limply to the floor.

" _Der_ ," Stiles' breathing hitches as Derek leans down and drags his nose from Stiles' throat up with a rumble, deeply inhaling Stiles' scent thick with arousal, sex and _StilesandDerek._

_“Der.”_

“You always smell so fucking good, and it drives me up the wall,” Derek groans, squeezing Stiles’ hips as he holds the younger man up against his chest. “I just want to eat you up.”

“Like the big bad wolf you are,” Stiles grins, tilting his head to the side so he can press kisses to Derek’s lips.

Derek wants to say something snarky back but then those sweet lips are on his own and he gets lost in the feeling.

“We should stop,” Stiles says, gasping as he pulls away a little.

“Why? We’ve only just started,” Derek tugs Stiles a little closer.

“Because I know if we continue we’re going to end up in bed together, and the others are going to be pissed they have to wait this long,” Stiles kisses up Derek’s jaw sweetly. “And I can feel your erection already.”

The older man makes a growl in the back of his throat, which has Stiles chuckling, “Down boy, down.”

Derek grumbles, wanting to hold on to _this_ feeling and freedom for as long as possible, but he reluctantly lets go of Stiles' hips, and forces himself to step back and bend down for the sweat pants.

"Hey, we still have all night for you to work out your moon lust," Stiles waggles his eyebrows at Derek, and Derek almost wants to drop his sweatpants again, and just see where this arousal will lead them.

He wants to feel Stiles' fingers in him again, wants to feel Stiles' cock against him, rubbing against his hole, feel Stiles' bare skin against his own, and he doesn't know how long this guilt and fearless lust will last, and he wants to make it count, wants Stiles to know how _good_ they fit together before Derek's insecurities and issues raise their ugly heads again, wants Stiles to know that Derek _can_ be worth waiting for, that Derek _will_ have sex with Stiles, that he _does_ want to, and that Derek doesn't _always_ ruin things, that Derek is at _least_ good at one thing when it comes to a relationship.

But Derek doesn't want to seem as needy as he is, he doesn't want to scare Stiles off with how clingy he really is, so he pulls up his sweatpants and ignores his hardon.

Derek's good at ignoring unwanted erections, of his body reacting when his mind says no, and while it's different because everything in him says _yes_ , longs for Stiles to touch him, to let Derek do what he's good at and making Stiles feel _good_ , he still has years of experience on his side.

Stiles' hand slips easily into his, threading their fingers together, and tugging him out of their den and back to the living room.

* * *

Peter has the remote in hand, the DVD running through the main menu, and looking completely content as he leans comfortably against his mate while Jackson scowls at Derek, impatient for some Stiles time, and still sitting in the same place.

Derek almost wants to sit next to him, to make it so Stiles can only cuddle with _him_ , but resists the urge.

Stiles settles between the two werewolves, bouncing with excitement as Peter starts the movie.

He earns a snort from Jackson who remembers how much of a ball of excitement Stiles was as a kid whenever they watched a movie together. Derek leans back in his seat, a smile trying to work its way on his lips as Stiles twists so he can wrap his arms around Derek stomach.

Stiles strokes at the bare skin under his hand, grinning when Derek makes a soft rumbling noise under his mate’s touch.

“Cuddle wolf,” Stiles comments, laughing when Jackson huffs and curls up against his best friends side. “Cuddle _wolves_.”

“Enough with the nicknames, you sound like a five-year=old.” Jackson growls, clinging to Stiles like a koala.

“No way. This is the best, you know how much I like my nicknames,” Stiles laughs, going quiet when the introduction to the movie begins.

Jackson huffs, but says nothing as Allison throws the second blanket over the entangled teenage boys of two werewolves and one magical human.

Derek shifts, so he's leaning against the armrest and Stiles can lay against him, stroking Derek's side in a way that makes the older man rumble in contentment, and Jackson decides to drape himself over Stiles.

"I now know what the meat in a sandwich feels like," Stiles mutters, quietening down as the iconic music begins, and he realises Peter decided to do the movies in timeline order.

Derek and Jackson snort, exchanging a glare over Stiles which makes Lydia snort softly as she leans back against the armrest with Allison leaning heavily against her.

"Werewolves," Lydia mutters to herself, wrapping an arm around Allison and _firmly_ not blushing.

Peter tries not to snigger at his pups, but he has to turn his face into Chris' chest to hide the large grin stretching across his lips.

He's _so_ glad that his pups are getting on, that their little fights were playful things, and there is no hard feelings between them, no issues despite the suddenness of the reveal of their relation.

It's a _proper_ sibling relationship, a relationship that Peter can't help, but envy slightly as it's not a relationship he _ever_ had with Talia.

He rests his head against Chris' chest, feeling Chris run his fingers through Peter's long hair, and tries to focus solely on the beat of his mate's heartbeat to stop his mind from wandering to dark places.

Because if he thought about Talia, thought about their relationship, then he'll think about _Robert_ , and Peter doesn't want to ruin this lazy and content Sunday with dark memories.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day on the couches, only getting up for bathroom breaks, food and just needing to stretch and walk around. No one even realizes what the time is until they hear a knock at the front door.

Jackson and Derek are immediately up on their feet and snarling at the door.

“Relax, pups. It’s only Scott,” Peter explains, getting up and stretching before going to the front door. “I invited him over so he could work on his control under the full moon. Everyone be nice.”

“I’m not making that promise,” Jackson grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at the front door where Scott is standing behind and fidgeting.

“Jackson,” Stiles gives the blonde a pointed look which gets the wolf backing down.

"You bit _Jackson_?" Scott almost demands in an incredulous tone, and Stiles almost face-palms as that immediately gets Jackson's hackles back up.

" _Omega_ McCall," Peter says firmly, stressing the formal title in a way that makes Scott flinch as the Alpha eyes the omega firmly and unconcerned. "Whoever I Bite, whoever I make Pack, is none of your business as you are _not_ Pack. I do not have to answer to you, you do not have dominance over me, you only live in Beacon Hills due to my goodwill and because a member of _my_ Pack cares about you. Unfortunately for you, I do not share the history _nor_ affection that Stiles holds you in, and my goodwill can easily be revoked."

Scott looks chastised, the kicked puppy look that always got him out of trouble appearing on his face, but Peter remains unmoved.

"I hope you will remember both your manners and your place while in my den and interacting with my Pack," Peter continues smoothly, not yet standing aside to allow the young werewolf in. "Instincts and tempers will be running high as moon rise inches ever closer, and I will tell you know, whatever attempt you make? You _will_ come off worse off, and I'd rather not explain to your mother just why you will be missing school as you heal from a no doubt major wound."

The look deepens, but again, Peter is unmoved, and Stiles almost wants to clap because Peter is proving to be the first adult to not soften or be taken in by the look, and Scott finally drops it for a somewhat mulish agreeing look.

"I'll behave," Scott finally says, and Peter hums as he steps to the side and waves the teenager in.

"We'll see," is Peter's only reply as he shuts the door behind Scott, and firmly belts his night-robe before turning with a raised eyebrow to Chris, who is pretending to lounge while keeping a sharp eye on Scott. "Can I trust you to watch the children while I cook dinner?"

Chris rolls his eyes at Peter, giving him a dry look, "I _do_ know how to be a responsible parent."

“Hmm, sure,” Peter teases, pulling Chris forward by the man’s hand and kissing him on the lips, leaving the room with a look to both his pups, and one to Stiles which made the teenager snicker.

“Behave. All of you,” he says as he enters the kitchen.

“So…movies?” Stiles tries, hoping to push everyone to something normal so no one starts a fight, and they don’t have an enraged Alpha on their hands.

“Might as well finish the one we have started,” Chris comments, settling back down on the couch, missing the warmth that Peter radiated next to him.

“Oh, what are we watching?” Scott attempts an act of sincerity.

“Star Wars,” Allison answers.

Stiles cringes a split-second before Scott's predictable disgusted and annoyed groan fills the air, and Scott immediately pins Stiles with a look.

" _Really_?" Scott asks in that way that makes Stiles hunch his shoulders, and Derek snarls at Scott as he pulls Stiles close making the other werewolf take a startled step back.

"What's wrong with Star Wars?" Allison demands with a small scowl as Stiles pats at Derek's bare chest in an attempt to calm his mate, and Scott immediately blanks as he remembers that it had been _Allison_ that proposed Star Wars for the date that never was before the talk go derailed with Stiles dropping the whole bisexual bomb on them.

"Err.." Scott visible fumbles for words as his girlfriend glares at him, and Jackson scoffs as he makes a show of relaxing against the couch, taking up more space than needed as if to stop Scott having any ideas about joining them.

"Don't ask him," Jackson says snidely, somehow able to look like he's talking down to Scott despite being sat down and Scott standing, and without _even_ talking to Scott or looking at him. "He's _never_ watched it, despite it being his so-called best friend's favourite movie series."

"Almost seven years of friendship, and he hasn't even _once_ attempted to watch it," Lydia says in a disapproval, a shake of her head.

Jackson may hate the Notebook, may attempt to always try and get her to choose a different movie, but he _still_ always rents it—refusing to buy it as he knows if he did then the already slim chance of him being able to see something different would be gone—and he _still_ watches it with her.

One didn't even have to be friendly with Stiles to know of his favourite movie series _or_ the fact that Scott hasn't _ever_ attempted to watch them with him, it is _that_ well known at Beacon High.

“Well, we’re almost caught up on the timeline, so you’ll just have to deal with it,” Jackson grumbles, flopping back down on the couch and pulling Stiles with him.

Derek glances down at the two of them, and then Scott before sitting in his spot. He wants nothing more than to kick Scott back out of the apartment and go along with their wonderful afternoon. But he won’t go against his Alpha’s wishes.

Stiles pays his boyfriend’s arm before settling back down and unpausing the movie.

Scott looks at the couch where everyone is piled up on with a frown. Allison doesn’t even try to come over and sit with him or talk. She simply gives him a little smile before going back to the movie which makes him confused.

Choosing not to fight, Scott settles on the last couch available and tries to watch the sci-fi movie Stiles likes so much.

The thing about coming in late to a movie? Unless you already know the movie or at least the movie it's a sequel to, you will end up completely lost.

Scott tries, he really tires, but he _really_ doesn't know Star Wars.

"So, who's that?" Scott asks making Jackson roll his eyes with a huff.

"That's Anakin Skywalker," Stiles answers immediately, eyes fixed on the TV in a way that reminds Scott more of his research spirals than anything.

"I thought the main character was called Luke Skywalker," Scott says in confusion.

"Yeah, he is," Stiles doesn't even beam in surprised pleasure that Scott even knew that much, not that Scott is hoping for him to. "But these are the prequels."

"Prequels?" Scott repeats, feeling more confused. "I thought this was an old movie series."

"Jesus Christ, McCall," Jackson breathes out heavily through his nose before giving the other werewolf a look. "We're trying to watch the movie."

“Well, sorry if I’m trying to get involved and watch it with you,” Scott snaps back, which earns an exhausted sigh from Stiles.

“Boys. It’s a movie, quit fighting,” Chris tells them both.

 _This is exactly why I was happy with having a daughter,_ the older man thinks to himself as he glared at the teenagers once more.

Derek shifts in his seat and lies back down, sighing when he feels Stiles wrap his arms around his waist once more. His mate strokes his hairy chest with short strokes of his hand and the older teen feels himself slipping between pleasure and relaxing, when the hand rests on his hip he has to hold himself back from doing something ridiculous.

“Alright, pups, dinner is in the oven and will be ready in twenty minutes,” Peter says, wiping his hands as he enters the living room. “I made the quick decision to make home-made pizza for everyone. Carbs are good when on an empty stomach and since we’ll be running around in the woods later, possibly, it’ll be good for the energy.”

"Running in the woods?" Stiles' hand pauses in its absent patting of Derek, and Derek almost whines as he arches back into the hand, and Stiles automatically begins to stroke Derek again, the slight roughness of Stiles' hand against Derek's skin makes the werewolf's eyes go half-lidded. "Are you sure that's a good idea with Auntie Psycho running about?"

Allison winces slightly at the off-handed and pointedly named mention of her aunt, something that makes Scott throw a glare at Stiles, and Chris straightens as he looks at Peter.

"I thought we were having a night in," Chris says cautiously, one hand clenching into a fist at the idea of his werewolves in the Preserve while Kate would no doubt be waiting. "Keep Jackson confided to a small space for his first moon."

"Oi," Jackson interjects. "I'm not a wild animal needing a cage."

"That's to be determined," Lydia mutters making Jackson huff, and Peter sends his youngest son a look.

"Lydia is right, we aren't yet sure how strong your control will be with moonrise," Peter reminds him, and Jackson slumps back with his arms crossed—he's not spending the night in that cage with _McCall_ , he _refuses_ —and Peter turns back to Chris. "I thought a short run would help Jackson work off the additional energy."

Chris frowns deeply, concern clear in his eyes as he looks at Peter, "Stiles is right, Kate will have the Preserve guarded, even trapped. I think it'd be best to stay here, at least until Kate's been arrested."

Peter bites on the inside of his cheek and looks away slightly as he thinks.

Despite his desire to run through the Preserve, following the paths his family has run for _generations_ , running with his pups at his side, Peter knows he has to bow to Chris and Stiles' logical concern and fear.

There's a part of him that bears his teeth at the idea, that hungers for Kate's blood, and wants to go _hunting_ , to remind these hunters that _this_ is _his_ land, and he would protect it.

“I believe you’re probably right. Seeing as you were a hunter most of your life,” Peter sighs, his wolf feeling unsettled at the thought of having to stay inside.

“I know you wanted to go out running with the others tonight, but your safety and their safety is the most important right now,” Chris stands up and walks over to Peter, stroking his lover’s face.

“Yes,” Peter looks off a little to the side, holding back the howling urges inside of him. His wolf is split into two beings at the moment, one that hungers for blood and the other that wants to keep his pups close and bare his teeth.

“Next time,” Chris promises.

Leaning in, Peter presses a gentle yet biting kiss against Chris’s lips before pulling away to check the pizza.

He doesn’t want to go any further as he’s having some trouble keeping the wolf at bay for the moment.

“Is Peter okay?” Stiles sits up a little, Derek also alert as he watches his mother leave the room.

“Yes, he’s just upset at the moment,” Chris explains.

Derek frowns slightly, understanding his mother's feelings at being denied the ability to run across the land that's been _theirs_ since before California became a state.

This is _their_ land, the land generations of Hale's have defended, have bled and died for, and it didn't seem right that they were being denied it by intruders.

But the thought of being out there and being cornered by _Kate_? Of _her_ pointing a gun at either his mother or brother? Of _her_ completing what _she_ started six years ago, and killing both his mother and brother in front of him, leaving Derek alone and an Alpha, probably almost feral with the sudden and violent death of his Pack/family.

If Derek is lucky, _she'd_ kill him too.

But that would be a kindness, and _she's_ never been kind.

Derek knows where he'd go, he'd run straight for Stiles, and Derek fears what he would do to Stiles in such a state, running on instinct and with no human mind to temper his animal instincts.

Derek shudders, more than happy that they were staying in the den where it's _safe_.

"Der?" Stiles' hand cups his cheek, and Derek closes his eyes, holding Stiles' hand there as he turns to nuzzle at it.

They are _safe_ , safe in their den, and Stiles is here, here and _safe_ , and with Derek.

Derek opens his eyes as he scents Stiles' increasing worry, and pressing a kiss to Stiles' palm before using Stiles' hand to tug him down, relaxing as Stiles' weight presses down against him, anchoring him and now, and _away_ from his dark thoughts.

"I'm fine," Derek says belatedly, curling his arms around Stiles and slipping one hand up his t-shirt to press against bare warm skin. "Just thinking."

"Thinking bad things," Stiles says quietly, resting his head against Derek's shoulder, and stroking absently down Derek's arm.

Derek's lips quirk ruefully, of course Stiles' noticed.

“It’s fine, baby,” Derek kisses the top of Stiles’ hair.

“Okay,” Stiles squishes his face against Derek’s arm, humming as he nuzzles against Derek’s skin before focusing on the movie again.

* * *

Peter comes in a while later, settling back down next to Chris and curls his hand around Chris’s side. The pizza won’t be finished for another while, so the Alpha relaxes against the scent of his mate.

Jackson and Scott both start to fidget in their seats a while later, the moon affecting them both much worse than it does Derek and Peter.

Scott fidgets and scratches at the couch, feeling like he’s going stir crazy and has the need to run around and chase something.

"Don't claw my couch please," Peter speaks up, looking fully relaxed as he leans against Chris. "Do you know how much a _real_ leather couch costs?"

There's a collective snort from the human/more human members of the Pack, knowing full well that Peter's loaded and doesn't actually _care_ about the cost, but it serves Peter's purpose as Scott stills with an almost guilty look.

"It's just..." Scott grimaces, shaking his head roughly, and then he's standing up, pacing behind the couch just to let off some energy, to try and stop feeling so _confided_ in the room despite the living room being spacious and a _lot_ bigger than his living room at home.

Jackson's lip curls up almost without him realising, a soundless snarl as he watches Scott pace, and his nose scrunches up at the scent of intruder, _Omega_ , in the _Pack's_ den, and his blue eyes shift slowly to gold.

Peter watches Jackson steadily, knowing this is a hard test to his control with an Omega in their den, a den Jackson's claimed as much his as it is theirs, and normally it isn't a test that Peter would want to throw a newly turned werewolf, but he had no real choice when Scott came to him—well, Stiles—for help on control.

As the local Alpha, _all_ Omega's in the territory is something he needs to be aware about and deal with as needed. It some cases, like this one, it's to provide a safe and secure environment for the full moon, in others it's to chase them off, and of course there's the ones that need to be _dealt_ with to secure the safety of his territory and Pack.

Scott is the only Omega so far residing in his territory which made it easier for Peter to keep an eye on him, but Peter knows that will no doubt change when word finally goes out that there is a Hale Alpha once again calling Beacon Hills home.

If Jackson snaps and attacks, then he'll be spending the night in the cage with the object of his anger—something Peter would rather didn't happen as it'd only worsen things for Jackson.

Derek shifts in his seat so he can wrap an arm protectively around Stiles’ waist.

He feels his wolf hackles raising as he watches Scott pace around the room and has the urge to snap at the boy or snarl at him. But his main objective is to keep his mate away from the teenager, he’d rather not let Scott get too close to Stiles in case the boy loses control and attacks.

If that were to happen, Derek isn’t so sure he’d be able to hold himself back from tearing Scott to shreds.

“Will you sit _fucking down_?” Jackson starts to snarl, his eyes glowing gold.

Scott’s eyes flash gold as well, and he growls at the Beta, “It’s not my fault I have to be trapped in here with you. I would have been fine home.”

“Sure. You say that now, but what happened when you lose control and attack your mom?” Jackson sneers.

Scott wolfs out at that, and he lunged at Jackson with a roar.

The only thing that stops him is when Derek roars and grabs him, getting off the couch faster than Jackson or Peter can move as he goes to defend his mate.

Allison yelps in shock and some fright, Lydia stifles a gasp as Derek _slams_ Scott down on the floor with his face completely wolfed out, full on snarling at Scott.

Chris' hand automatically drops to his side, reaching for a gun that's not there, and Peter is on his feet in an instance.

"Derek!" Peter snaps as Stiles watches with wide-eyes, for once not knowing what to say.

Jackson's eyes fade back to blue in his shock as Derek trembles with barely repressed violence, a thunderous growl rumbling deep in his chest as he stares down at Scott.

For the first time since he entered the apartment, Scott loses his mulish look and looks more like the scared teenager he is underneath all the asshole behaviour as the older _and_ stronger werewolf keeps him pinned to the floor, and looking one step away from ripping his throat out with his _teeth_.

"Derek," Peter repeats, and Derek's head tilts just slightly to show he is listening though he doesn't remove his unblinking glowing electric-blue gaze from Scott's face. "Stiles is fine, he is _safe_. Scott didn't touch him, you protected him well, but now you have to let Scott up."

Derek's growl goes louder, the idea of releasing this _Omega_ —this _threat_ to his mate—doesn't sit well with him.

"Derek?" there's a tremble to Stiles' voice that speaks of fear, and Derek releases Scott to check his mate over, to find out what's causing him to be afraid, and Stiles shudders with some relief against Derek, pressing close as Derek noses and sniffs him worriedly. "I'm okay, big guy. I'm fine."

Stiles clutches at Derek, arms wrapping around him and clinging to his back as Derek's hands move over him as if he's checking to make sure that Stiles isn't hurt, and Stiles wills his heart to stop racing.

For the first time in what feels like _forever_ , Stiles actually felt a bit afraid _of_ Derek and not _for_ Derek, and he's reminded that despite his jokes about Derek being a giant puppy, werewolves can be _very_ dangerous.

“Stiles,” Derek growls, shoving his nose against every corner of Stiles’ skin, so he can scent his mate.

Scott opens his mouth to say something, but then stops himself, instead he shakes himself off as he stands back up on his feet and glares at the older man.

Derek growls under his breath which has Scott taking another step back, and Peter stepping forward.

“Derek, go take Stiles to your den. You need to calm down,” Peter commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Derek rumbles and his eyes flicker a little as his wolf loosens its grip on him. He picks Stiles up like his mate is nothing but a doll and leaves the room.

“Scott, how is your control feeling?” Peter turns to ask.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Scott snaps, “He just fucking attacked me like a wild animal, and you’re gonna let him leave with Stiles!? He’s dangerous.”

“Scott. You were the one to jump at them first,” Peter holds back the urge to roll his eyes at this child.

"I wasn't going to attack _them_!" Scott protests, a hint of gold in his eyes, and Jackson sits up with a silent snarl.

"Yeah, because you were going to attack me," Jackson says with a hint of a growl, quietening down as Peter glances at him somewhat sharply, a silent reminder to keep a hold on his control.

"You were going to attack _someone_ ," Peter reminds Scott, crossing his arms over his chest and somewhat glad he's still wearing his silk robe as the feel of it against his skin is rather soothing—something he's in dire need of while dealing with this stubborn child. "Derek saw this as a possible attack on his mate, and rightly defended his mate. The fact that you didn't end up bleeding says that he _didn't_ attack you like a wild animal because if he had then you'd be bleeding out and ruining my rug. If you thought leather couches are expensive, try researching real antique oriental rugs—you'll be in several thousand dollars in debt."

"Mate?" Scott repeats in disbelief, face scrunching up in disbelief and lingering anger. "He's actually got Stiles to believe something like mates are real and that _Stiles_ is Derek's?"

Peter stills, his face going blank as this—this _child_ , this annoying and stubborn Omega _dares_ to scorn something so important to werewolves. Well, Scott is lucky that Peter is an adult, and is able to resist the urge to hit him.

"And what the fuck is _that_ meant to be mean?" Jackson snaps, still sitting only due to Lydia's tight grip on his arm, short and perfectly painted nails digging into Jackson's bare skin.

The dullness of Scott’s mind was one that could have baffled many scientists, as the teenager is oblivious to the danger he was about to walk into.

“Mates aren’t real. That’s just some creepy bullshit Derek made up as an excuse to date Stiles,” Scott explains, not realizing the boiling hot rage that was growing inside of Peter at those words.

“You think that because Derek is older, he’s just making these _lies_ up so he can be with Stiles?” Peter almost choked on the words.

“Exactly.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jackson sneers, “Just because there’s a two year age gap doesn’t mean Derek’s a fucking creep. If that was the case then Stiles’ dad would have been a fucking creep when he started dating Stiles’ mom.”

“That’s not—“

“No, that’s exactly what you’re trying to say,” Jackson snaps, pulling back when Peter steps in.

"You truly know _nothing_ about werewolves," Peter tells Scott, feeling a deep well of disgust in him. "Mates _are_ real, I know this for a fact as I have found my mate."

Scott looks incredulous as he glances over to where Chris is sitting, still rather tense due to the tension in room, and Chris looks back at him with a rather blanked face.

"You mean Mr Argent?" Scott asks with disbelief, and Peter's lips almost curl back with a snarl as Chris finally stands up.

"Yes," Chris says as he presses a hand to Peter's lower back, stroking his thumb a bit firmly against Peter's back in a hope to soothe the younger man. "I'm Peter's mate."

"But—"

"If I was you, Scott, I'd keep quiet before you piss off someone else with the utter stupidity you are sprouting," Lydia interrupts, not wanting to hear what else Scott could say to insult the other werewolves in the room.

Scott glares at Lydia making Jackson snarl slightly, but Lydia just looks at him with a bored expression.

Scoffing, the teenager sulks back to his spot on the couch, crossing his arms as he glared at the other teens.

His expression turning into that of a hurt puppy when he sees Allison looking at him, but instead of going over to check on Scott or ask if he was okay, she turns her head away to place a steady hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

It makes Scott glare furiously at the blonde, but he bites back on the words he wants to say.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Derek’s room, Stiles is holding the older teens face in his hands and stroking the furry sideburns on Derek’s shifted face. The Beta huffs and grunts as he tries to calm down under the soothing touches of his mate’s hands.

“Hey, it’s ok big guy. It’s just me,” Stiles repeats, running his thumb over the ridges of Derek’s eyebrows.

“He was going to hurt you.” Derek slurs through his canines.

“Scott was just riled up. Jackson always does that to him, because Jackson’s an asshole,” Stiles tells him, “Derek look at me.”

The wolf growls but does as Stiles tells him to do.

“I’m safe, I promise,” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s forehead.

Derek releases some of the tension in him with the gentle kiss to his forehead, dropping to press his forehead against Stiles', and he rumbles quietly as Stiles strokes his hands up and down his sides.

"I'm safe," Stiles repeats as Derek keeps his eyes closed as he listens to Stiles, trying to calm down.

But all Derek can see with his eyes closed is the look on Scott's face, the way he stepped forward with the clear intent to attack, and how close Scott had come to Stiles.

Logically, Derek knows that Scott didn't get _anywhere_ near enough to hurt Stiles, but instincts insists he checks over his mate, inspects every _inch_ of him to make sure, and then scent him thoroughly to warn off the Omega from trying again.

"I," Derek almost bites through his cheek with his fangs before he opens his glowing blue eyes to stare into Stiles' amber-brown. "I _need_ to make sure you aren't hurt, I _need_ to check."

There's something very intent to the way Derek is staring at him like Stiles is Little Red Riding and Derek is the Big Bad Wolf ready to eat him, there's also something almost suggestive to the way Derek's hands are bunching Stiles' t-shirt, and Stiles swallows thickly as all the blood seems to go south, pooling low in his stomach and making his cock twitch and harden.

Stiles' self-preservation instincts are _so_ fucked, Stiles realises as he's turned on by the way his very predator boyfriend is looking like him that.

Derek inhales deeply through his nose, the blue of his eyes seem to flare enough brighter as his pupil expanses in desire.

"Yeah," Stiles says almost hoarsely as Derek seems to be suddenly looming over him, ready to crowd him back to their bed. "Yeah, check away, big guy."

Derek pushes Stiles back further until he falls back on to the bed, scenting and tearing off the teen’s shirt so he can check over his skin.

The werewolf makes a soft whine as he strokes Stiles’ soft skin, leaning down he noses against every crook and cranny of Stiles’ skin, and ignoring Stiles’ bursting scent of arousal as he touches everywhere, heavily marking his mate with his scent until he’s satisfied he did a good job.

“Did—uh—did you need to check anywhere else?” Stiles blushes, squirming a little under the weight of Derek’s gaze.

“No...I think I got everywhere I needed,” Derek’s voice sounds rough, and he has to shift backwards a little so his hardon doesn’t touch Stiles.

Swallowing, Stiles lets his eyes do a once over of Derek’s body, blushing when he sees a familiar tenting in the man’s pants, “You sure?”

“I promise,” Derek pushes, not yet feeling up to anything frisky as he doesn’t trust himself to be able to stop when they start.

“Okay,” Stiles gets up on his elbows and presses a kiss to the underside of Derek’s jaw. “Should we go back out where the others are?”

“Could...could we just cuddle for a moment longer? I just—I need to be close with you for a while longer before I let you leave. Sorry if that sounds creepy,” Derek scratches at the back of his neck and feels his face go red with embarrassment.

"That's fine, Der," Stiles presses another kiss to the underside of Derek's jaw, feeling the bristles of Derek's growing beard, and trying to move his brain out of sexy-time and to more cuddly-time. "How do you want to cuddle?"

Derek gently pushes Stiles back, Stiles moving with him until Stiles is flat on his back, and Derek almost shudders as he has to steady himself as he's reminded of Stiles lying there the other day, just like this, as Derek basically rode him, grinding and rubbing against him until they both came.

Stiles opens his arms in welcome, and Derek tries not to collapse completely on him as Derek does his best to cover his smaller mate with his body in a protective motion, and he tucks his face against the bruised column of Stiles' throat.

One of Stiles' arms wraps around his middle, absently stroking at his side, and his other hand moves to run through Derek's hair, easily falling back into that easy rhythm with just a hint of his nails against Derek's scalp that makes Derek go boneless and his eyes half-lidded.

Stiles smiles slightly as Derek's familiar purr-like rumble in his throat starts as Stiles runs his fingers through Derek's hair.

 _This_ is better, _this_ is Derek as a giant puppy and not a murderous werewolf about to rip someone throat out.

Though Stiles _really_ needs to have a strong talking to with his dick, he shouldn't be so aroused by Derek looking at him like he's prey about to be devoured in a very sexy way.

Okay, so maybe his dick has a point, but he'd like it to stop showing that Stiles' fear response and self-preservation is fucked up when it comes to Derek.

.....Oh god, he _hopes_ it's just Derek his body reacts to like that because he's going to die of embarrassment if he starts reacting to Jackson or, god forbid, _Peter_ flashing their eyes or fangs, or falling into that murder-strut-stalk thing that makes Stiles' mouth go dry when Derek does it because it looks like Derek's _hunting_ him.

Burying his face against Derek, Stiles pushes away every single thought going through his head.

 _No, no, no, no_ , he thinks to himself, wanting to shut down on any sex thoughts so he doesn’t make this awkward.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“I care about you. A lot...I hope you know that right?” Derek sounds nervous as he says those words, “I know it’s probably hard to date me, because I’m so...”

“Emotionally constipated?” Stiles answers.

“Yes,” Derek shifts. “I’m sorry if I ever make you feel like you’re not important to me, or that I don’t care. I just...Kate was...she said things to me, and I was a child when she said them, so I took her words like they were gospel. When she wanted me to change something, I thought if I did so it would make her happy, and in return also make me happy. But now that I look back on the stuff she said I realize that, what she wanted wasn’t something I could actually give her. And she...she manipulated me into this walking sex doll for her—I don’t remember a time when she ever cared about my emotions or when I was sad.”

“Derek...”

Derek shudders slightly, closing his eyes as he pushes away the memories, and wanting to get this out.

"You are one of the most important things in my life," Derek says, getting as close as possible to saying that he loves Stiles without actually _saying_ it and possibly scaring Stiles especially after tonight. "I don't want to make you think otherwise, and—"

Stiles' hands cupping his face and tilting him up, so the younger teen can press a kiss to his lips stop him.

It's a soft and gentle kiss, chaste even, and it still makes Derek shudder at the overwhelming emotion Stiles still manages to put into it.

"Silly wolf," Stiles says, mouth barely an inch from Derek's and letting Derek almost feel the shape of those words. "Of course I know, how could I _not_ know how much you feel for me? Dude, you're terrified of messing up, and yet you still wanted to try with me."

"Don't call me dude," Derek mutters half-heartily, and Stiles snorts as he presses another kiss to Derek's lips.

"Yeah, perhaps this isn't what I expected from a relationship, but so what?" Stiles asks him, stroking his strong cheekbones. "Who cares what I expected before? Hell, I never expected werewolves, so that shows what I thought I knew. And this? You and me? This is for the long haul, and no matter how emotional constipated you are, I'll be here, and I'll listen when you finally figure out your emotions and thoughts, okay?

If you've decided the sex we've done this weekend is it for now, that's fine. I won't lie and say I won't be disappointed, but I care more about _you_ then I care about having sex again. I _never_ want you to think I'm anything like her, okay? I don't want you for sex, okay?

I want you because you are Derek, I want you because you are the best cuddle-wolf _ever_ , I want you because I love the hints of nerdiness you've let slip, because shit, that's attractive as _fuck_ , I want you because your dry-humour is hilarious when you actually joke."

It looks like Stiles will go on, will continue to list off all these different ways he wants Derek, but Derek cuts him off with a hard kiss.

It's as desperate as it's hungry, and Derek can almost _taste_ the startled moan Stiles makes in response as their mouths move against each other, and Derek knows he'll never be able to pinpoint who opened their mouth first later, but it doesn't _matter_.

How could anything matter when Stiles' hand is tangling in Derek's hair, holding just tight enough, and Derek's hand is cupping Stiles' throat, Stiles' head tilting back against the pillows as Derek almost _devours_ Stiles' mouth?

There's this feeling welling in Derek's chest, a tightness that has nothing to do with panic and yet leaves him breathless, a pain that feels _good_ , and Derek can hear their hearts thundering in chests, their beats almost mirroring the other.

 _I love you_ , Derek thinks fiercely as Stiles' second hand claws at his back, short nails dragging down his back in a way that makes Derek shudder. _I love you._

Three little words, three words he longs to say to Stiles, and yet three words he's utterly terrified to say to Stiles.

Derek doesn't know if he moves to twist them or Stiles pushes at his shoulder, but they roll until Derek's underneath, and it's Stiles pinning him down securely with his weight, and they are _still_ kissing.

Stiles' hand is still in his hair, tugging his head back to bare his throat, and a deep guttural moan slips from Derek's parted and wet lips as Stiles' mouth leaves his and he _attacks_ Derek's throat with kisses and with the odd bite that makes him arch underneath Stiles as his mate _claims_ him with each stinging bite.

Stiles is hard against him, and Derek groans as he spreads his legs almost _whorishly_ , and normally that word is enough to make him pause, to make him pull back, but his mind is fuzzy, his chest is warm from Stiles' words and his blood is heated by the moon, and Derek can't remember why he should stop.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek whines, like a needy little pup. “Stiles.”

“You’re so pretty, Der,” Stiles kisses up the man’s chest, before moving back to his lips. “I just want to keep you here, like this, all the time.”

Derek shakes at the thought, he would absolutely let Stiles do that. In fact at this very moment he’s pretty sure he’d let Stiles do whatever he wanted to him.

“Boys, let’s not get carried away in here.”

“ _JESUS!_ ” Stiles screams, immediately grabbing the covers and pulling them over himself and Derek.

“Actually, it’s Peter, and I’m a little ashamed you would have forgotten my name,” Peter pouts from where he’s leaning against the doorway.

“Peter!” Stiles screeches, “What the hell?! We were having a moment.”

“Yes. And that moments over, now chop chop, back to the living room. The moons about to rise and I’m going to take Jackson and Scott to the safety room, along with Derek.”

Derek groans a laugh, pulling Stiles closer to his body and grinning when Stiles squirms in his arms, until he realizes what his mother was saying.

"What," it's meant to be a question, Derek knows that, Peter knows that, Stiles knows that, but it comes out to flatly to be a true question.

Derek stares blankly at his mother, hoping against hope that he misheard the man, and Peter smiles back, a small and positively _evil_ smiles that tells Derek that no, he didn't mishear.

"I warned Jackson that if he lost control then he would end up in the containment room," Peter reminds Derek in a falsely light tone. "It seems unfair that I don't hold you to the same standard and punishment."

"No," the denial is full of horror, disbelief, and bitter resignation already, and it makes Peter smiles just _that_ bit wider.

"Oh yes," Peter tells him, and Stiles is torn on how he should feel.

On the one hand, Derek being treated like a new pup by being confide to the puppy containment room, and _that_ image is hilarious. But on the other hand, Stiles had been quietly looking forward to moon-inspired sexiness, and had been greatly enjoying the rather early start of it before Peter's interruption.

"But—"

"No arguments," Peter cuts both of them off before either can truly start, a firm look on his face as he looks at Derek. "You lost control, Derek, and I will not start off treating you differently to Jackson. Yes, why you lost control is understandable, but it doesn't change the fact that you did."

Derek can almost feel a childish pout forming, and he scowls to hide it because despite the enforced bedtimes and his mother's continued pet-names of 'my baby boy' and 'Pup', Derek _is not_ a child, and he refuses to act like one.

Which unfortunately means that Derek can't really argue against Peter's decision, and means he'll be spending the night in confinement with _Scott_ instead of in his den with his mate.

"I didn't even hurt him," is a mulish mutter he can't stop escaping despite his desire not to act like a child as he drops his head back on the pillows, scowling up at the ceiling.

Stiles pays Derek’s arm, “It’s only for one night, big guy. I promise it won’t be the end, besides, we’ll both be suffering in our own ways.”

“Yeah, but you’re not trapped in a room with Scott and Jackson,” Derek grumbles, wishing he could just hide behind his mate.

Stiles can’t hold back on the laughter that escapes his throat, “Poor baby,” he leans down and kisses Derek’s forehead, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the scary assholes.”

Huffing, the older man grumbles in response before pushing the covers off of them.

“Great. Now come along, dinner should be finished by now and I’m sure everyone’s starving to eat. Make sure to mind your table manners,” Peter grins.

“Shouldn’t you be telling that to Scott?” Derek glares at the floorboards.

“Don’t worry, I already did.”

* * *

"Oh my _god_ ," Stiles groans as he trails after Peter into the kitchen, inhaling deeply the perfect smell of pizza. "That smells incredible."

"We'd already know if it was incredible or not if you weren't so busy kissing," Jackson mutters from the kitchen table, his arms crossed over his chest and his blue gaze focused towards the actual kitchen area.

"I'd say you aren't you when you are hungry, but then I would be lying," Stiles quips while resisting the urge to stick out of his tongue at the other teen, no doubt Jackson would use it as an excuse to flirt or something, and with his very much beloved boyfriend holding his hand and not in a happy mood due to the puppy containment in his future, that's probably not a good idea.

"Did you make the pizza-base?" Lydia asks Peter, completely focused on the most important thing at the moment—food.

"Of course," Peter looks offended as he moves to oven to remove the very large pizza.

"When did you have time to do that?" Allison marvels, ignoring the kicked puppy look Scott is sending her across the table as he had been hoping she would have sat beside him instead of next to both her dad and Lydia.

"I do have _some_ time on my hands when you lot are in school," Peter reminds them dryly as Stiles and Derek takes their normal seats at the table, Derek resisting the urge to growl at how close Scott is to Stiles.

Chris stands up after one last look at the table as if he's making sure none of the teenagers aren't going to start a fight, and he moves over to Peter, pressing a hand to the small of his back and resisting the urge to wince as he feels Peter tense slightly.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Chris asks quietly after the tension leaks out of Peter, and Peter shoots him a slightly strained smile that makes Chris' chest hurt.

"Drinks?" Peter questions as he pulls a pizza-cutter from one of the drawers, and Chris nods as he presses a small kiss to Peter's scarred cheek.

“Sure thing, love,” Chris nods and moves away from Peter to get the drinks ready.

Scott makes a face when he smells Derek and Stiles, but keeps his mouth shut after the last time he said something out of line.

Stiles runs his hand up and down Derek’s arm as the older man glares at the table. When Peter brings in the pizza to the table, everyone perks up at the sight of the massive thing.

“Damn, how did this fit in your oven? It’s huge!” Stiles bounces in his seat a little bit with excitement and hunger.

“Oh, it didn’t go in the oven. I have a stone oven outside that I like to use for pizzas and bread,” Peter explains, smiling as he watches Chris bring in an armful of drinks for everyone.

"You have a _stone oven_? _Outside_?" Stiles repeats in disbelief. "What do you mean? It's _outside_? This is the top level of an apartment building!"

Peter blinks at Stiles in the middle of placing large slices on everyone's plates, and frowns slightly at the teenager, "You do realise I have a small garden, right?"

"You have a _garden_?" Stiles stares at Peter. "But-but this is an apartment."

"It's a penthouse, dear boy," Peter reminds him with some confusion. "I have everything a house has with better security and views."

"You've been basically living here for over a week, and you didn't know there's a garden here?" Jackson asks Stiles in disbelief as Chris places the drinks in front of everyone, and Stiles flushes.

"I've been busy!" Stiles defends himself, and Allison grins with mischief bright in her eyes.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" she teases making Stiles' blush deepen and Derek ducks his head slightly with the tips of his ears turning red.

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbles, trying to hide the rising blush on his face when Derek chuckles a little.

“Anyways,” Stiles says, trying to swerve the conversation to somewhere else because he really doesn’t want to talk about his sex life. “How are you puppies feeling about this full moon so far.”

“We’re not puppies,” Jackson and Scott growl in synch, before turning to one another with identical glares.

Peter snorts at the sight, and digs into his pizza slice with gusto.

“Sure, sure,” Stiles snickers, taking a bite out of his pizza as well.

Derek makes a face at his mate, but doesn’t say anything on the subject because he does not want to get roped into the argument Scott and Jackson are about to bring.

"Eat," Chris orders sternly, cutting the two teens off before they could get started.

Somehow, Stiles isn't surprised that Scott turns away from Jackson while plastering on the look that won the hearts of adults whenever needed as he turns to Chris.

"Of course, Mr Argent," Scott says with a happy-go-lucky/boy-next-door smile.

There's a subtle wince from Derek at the reminder of the most dreaded and hated name that Chris and Allison share, a tightness to Chris' mouth that says he's not impressed by Scott and he didn't like the reminder of his _family_ either, and Jackson rolls his eyes with a huff.

Jackson silently mouths what Scott said while making a face, and Lydia nudges him sharply without looking up from her pizza slice. Jackson huffs, but stops as he reaches out for his pizza slice.

There's a tension to the table that Stiles doesn't like, a tension that hadn't been there since the disastrous study night gone wrong, and it's _quiet_ a part from the munching of pizza.

There's always been chatter, some banter and such. Meals here have never been _quiet_ , and Stiles almost hates Scott in this moment for ruining things, knowing it's not fair to blame Scott, and feeling guilty about his mixed up feelings for his best friend.

Across from Stiles, Allison is sitting with slightly hunched shoulders, and her expression drawn in discomfort, and Stiles tries to give her a smile though he knows it'll probably strained as the quiet lengthens and seems to press down on them.

"So," Allison breaks the silence with an overly bright tone, and tries to ignore the puppy-dog eyes Scott sends her way. "What will the humans be doing this evening?"

"No magic practise," Chris immediately cuts in, refusing to be held responsible for another magical mishap of Stiles, and Stiles winces slightly as he reaches up for his nose automatically.

"Magic?" Scott asks in disbelief, because werewolves may be real, but magic is too much for him to deal with apparently.

Stiles ignores Scott’s comment, not feeling up to explaining everything that’s happened so far.

“Damn,” Stiles jokes, “And here I was hoping to practice turning Peter’s couch into a mouse.”

The Alpha makes an affronted look, “You will do no such thing if you wish to walk around the next day with your skin intact.”

Stiles scoffs, “You wouldn’t hurt me. I’m your favorite.”

“That’s still up for debate. You did set my couch on fire.”

Stiles frowns and takes another bite of his pizza with a pout on his lips.

“You did what!” Scott stares at him with wide eyes.

“It was an accident,” Stiles argues, glaring when Peter snorts, “It was!”

"It was a simple exercise," Peter shakes his head like he's still baffled despite the twinkle of humour in his eyes which told everyone that he's only playing with Stiles. "Light the wick of a candle, easy, simple, and what do you do? You set my leather couch on fire!"

Derek snorts, "At least it was just the couch. He ended up levitating me."

"It was an accident!" Stiles protests, feeling his face flush as he remembers his thoughts focusing more on Derek and the feelings he invokes than the damn fruit he was meant to have been levitating.

Allison gasps with eyes bright with humour, and Lydia hums as Jackson snorts.

"So, Stiles has a history of magical accidents, huh?" Lydia says teasingly. "I suppose him getting stuck to the ceiling was to be expected then."

Scott looks lost and confused as he listens.

"You sure you want to teach him to fight?" Jackson asks Chris dryly, a smirk curling his lips. "I shudder to think what accidents he'll end up having during your training."

Chris snorts as Stiles gapes at Jackson in betrayal.

"Betrayed!" Stiles pretends to wail, four werewolves wince at the pitch he reaches—something he's vaguely smug about. "I am surrounded by betrayal and slander! Oh! How _ever_ will I cope? How will I recover from the grievous injuries you have bestowed on my person?"

Stiles sways in his seat, the back of one hand resting against his brow in a classic overcome Victorian woman pose.

"First my future mother-in-law slanders my good name!" Stiles bemoans dramatically to the ceiling as Allison bursts into a fit of giggles and Lydia tries to stifle her laugher.

" _Future mother-in-law_?" Scott repeats in confusion and mild horror, but Stiles ignores him.

"Then my beloved stabs me in the back," Stiles cries out, still swaying and making Derek reach out to steady him. "Only for his brother to twist the dagger further!"

"Brother?" Scott's voice takes an interesting high pitch.

"Oh! _Oh_! The betrayal! The heartache!" Stiles continues.

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Scott mutters the words as he stares at Stiles with a mixed expression on his face.

Derek gives the teen a dark look and doesn’t answer, it’s none of Scott’s business. He’s not part of the Pack and doesn’t need to know about the blood connection Derek, Peter and Jackson share.

Stiles doesn’t hear what his ex-friend had said and continues on his soliloquy about the ‘utter betrayal’ of his Pack against him. It has Derek snorting and staring at Stiles with hearts in his eyes.

Dinner goes on like that and sooner than Derek wanted, he’s following Peter into the safety room.

Stiles stops him by grabbing Derek’s shirt and tugging him back so he can press a kiss to the werewolf’s lips.

“Be safe,” Stiles grins up at him.

“Do I get a kiss?” Jackson smirks, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed.

Derek growls at his brother, reaching out to push him, and Jackson snorts as he ducks away.

"Okay," Stiles surprises them by saying, and then he grabs Jackson's face and put a big smacking kiss of Jackson's forehead before stepping back with a smirk.

"That's not what I wanted, and you know it," Jackson pouts, and Stiles snickers as Derek reels him back in, pressing a kiss to Stiles' bruised throat with a smug rumble.

"You asked for a kiss, I gave you a kiss," Stiles gives Jackson a shit-eating grin. "I can't help if you expected something different."

Jackson snorts, almost tempted to reach out and push Stiles playfully, but he doesn't want to risk his brother seeing it as an attack just in case.

"Asshole," Jackson quips instead, and Stiles' grin widens.

"Takes one to know one," Stiles retorts easily before turning in Derek's arms and leaning up to press another kiss to Derek's lips, trying to keep it short and chaste.

Derek doesn't really want to do short and chaste, but he knows it'd just frustrate him more going into containment for the night if he starts something he can't finish with his mate.

"Try not to have too much fun without me," Stiles teases, arms looped around Derek's neck and Derek's strong arms are wrapped around his waist, keeping him close.

Derek snorts, "I don't think _that's_ going to be a problem."

"I'm wounded," Jackson deadpans beside them causing Derek to roll his eyes and Stiles to snort.

Scott hovers awkwardly, the feel of being begrudgingly welcomed and that he's trespassing seems increase as time goes by.

"Come now, time for goodbyes are over," Peter says after exchanging one last and lingering look with Chris. "Follow me, Pups, and _guest_."

And in a swirl of red silk, Peter begins to lead them to the secret safe/containment room with Derek dragging his feet as he leaves his mate behind.

* * *

“Well, since they’re gone I guess that means we can have a girls night,” Lydia grins.

Frowning, Stiles leaning back as he looks at the two girls, “Damn, guess I’ll go read.”

“That means you too, Stiles.”

Stiles gawks for a moment, “But I’m not a girl!”

“We know, we just want you to hang out with us as well. Like a human Pack member night,” Allison gives him a dimpled smile.

“Okay, but I better not end up with my nails painted.”

"Of course not," Allison says with a beaming and innocent smile while Lydia smirks as she leaves to grab Allison and her own make-up bags. "Lydia and I will stick to painting our own nails."

Chris wonders if he should warn Stiles about the crossed fingers behind Allison's back, but one look at his daughter's beaming face makes him decide not to ruin her fun. Though he does wonder how they'll trick Stiles into getting his nails done.

"I'm going to wash up the dishes," he tells them, resisting the urge to follow after Peter and check on him—Peter would only end up teasing him for being an overprotective fool. "Do you want me to grab you any snacks or drinks first?"

"Please dad," Allison says as she looks at him, excitement clear in her dark eyes. "We can't have a proper gir—human Pack member night with snacks."

"You were going to lump me in as one of the girls again, weren't you?" Stiles squints at Allison.

"Of course not," Allison lies with a doe-eyed look. "I would never!"

Chris snorts as he heads into the kitchen, wondering what snacks he could find—did Peter even have _any_ cookies left? Or did Peter have to make some more?

"We need to point on a movie we're hardly going to watch too," Lydia announces as she re-enters the living room like a Queen, holding the two make-ups and walking over to place them on the coffee-table as Stiles sits wearily down on the couch.

For some reason, Stiles feels almost like a lamb in a den of lionesses as the two teenage girls beam at him, deviously innocent.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Stiles says more to himself than to the others, as Lydia and Allison drag him to the living room floor.

“You’re lucky I remembered to pack my good makeup stuff before leaving home,” Allison grins, and not in a cute way as she scatters her make-up collection in front of her.

“Well, at least let me choose the movie since you both are going to entertain each other with that,” Stiles huffs, changing the disc from Star Wars to The Hobbit.

Lydia looks up from where she was selecting colours that would match Stiles’ skin, a glint in her eye that would have any man trembling in their shoes.

“We’ll see about that,” She says quietly to herself, shifting a little before saying sweetly, “So Stiles, tell us about your relationship with Derek.”

Despite the well of suspicion in him, the demand isn't something he has the will power to probably ignore.

"What do you want to know?" Stiles asks as he tries to hold onto his suspicion, experience told him that people didn't want to really listen to Stiles go on about things he really likes unless there is something in it for them.

"You know, the usual," Allison smiles like the Disney Princess she should be, and making it hard for Stiles to remember that she's secretly evil with the full force of her bright dimpled smile turned solely onto him. "What's he like when your alone? What do you like about him? Is he as sexy naked as we all think he is? Things like that."

"Is the sex good? What types of sex have you explored? What type of sex do you think you're going to try next? Has he shown any kinks yet?" Lydia continues for Allison as if she's ticking questions from a checklist.

Chris almost drops the tray of drinks and the last cookies as he enters the room.

"What's your favourite physical feature of him?" Allison asks, and Stiles almost trembles to stop himself from launching into a rant of all things Derek.

"I'm going to leave you lot to this," Chris says, trying not to sound too flustered as he puts down the tray on the coffee-table, and he refuses to meet any of their eyes as he accepts their thanks.

"Go on, Stiles," Lydia coaxes almost evilly, a gentle coaxing tone to her voice, "let it all out."

That's all Stiles needs, and Chris escapes before he hears more about his stepson than he wants to.

"I don't know where to _start_ ," Stiles admits freely. "He's just so _amazing_."

“I know people probably take one look at Derek’s face and fall for the guy, but honestly have you seen his eyes? I can never tell if they’re blue or green. Oh! Oh! And his smile?! I’m absolutely gone on that man’s smile, like he’s just so gorgeous when he smiles,” Stiles goes off like a race horse.

Suddenly no longer interested in watching The Hobbit, as he goes on and on about Derek.

“We actually haven’t had much sex,” Stiles laughs at the shocked look on Lydia’s face.

“Really? And here I thought you would have had that man bent over the moment you got home from school,” she picks out a blue nail polish that would go good with Derek’s blue eyes.

“Oh, trust me, I would absolutely go down on that man. But Derek...he has issues, and I’m not going to push or bully him into something he’s not ready for. I know Derek would do the same for me,” Stiles fidgets a little as he thinks about Derek’s past.

Lydia takes Stiles’ hand while he’s distracted and begins putting the nail polish on it, giving Stiles an encouraging hum when he freezes up with his words.

“I do...” he bites his lips again feeling bad about what he’s going to say next, “I do kind of wish Derek would do nice things for me though. I think Kate might have said something to him or did something, because he gets uncomfortable when I try to label our relationship. Or when we’re out in public, he seems distant. Maybe I’m just thinking too hard on this.”

"What do you mean?" Allison asks softly while Lydia makes sure not to tighten her grip on Stiles' hand, she didn't want to tip him off to what she's doing just because she's feeling a bit protective. "He seems to enjoy showing off your relationship when he picks us up from school and when he drops us off."

"Yeah," Stiles chews on his lips. "But that's school, and yeah, we haven't really gone out much, so I'm probably just overthinking things."

"Did something happen at the mall?" Lydia questions, knowing that _something_ had happened considering the way Stiles went to Jackson for comfort after Derek and Stiles were alone in that leather shop.

Stiles hesitates, he doesn't want to accidentally betray Derek's trust, but he _has_ been wanting to talk about what happened, and it's Allison and Lydia, they are _Pack_ , and surely Pack is consider safe to talk about things like this?

"You remember that woman?" Stiles asks Lydia quietly, gaze fixing sightlessly on the TV as Bilbo Baggins is overrun by uninvited dwarves.

"The bigot?" Lydia asks, and gives a sniff of distain when Stiles nods. "She's the reason we're _never_ going back there. There's another shop in town with a bigger selection, they wouldn't allow a woman like that shop there again."

Stiles gives a fleeting smile before going serious, "I told Derek what she said, and well, he didn't react well."

"I'm not surprised considering what she said," Lydia harrumphs, and Stiles shakes his head.

"He said he wasn't gay," Stiles says, hesitating before continuing in a quieter voice. "He kind of, sort of, implied that the reason he became interested in me at _all_ is because I'm his mate."

Allison gasps and Lydia stills, trying not to ruin her hard-work.

"What?" Lydia asks almost flatly.

"We talked it out later, it's something to do with what Kate said to him, but," Stiles bites at his lips. "I mean, I know that Derek cares about me, but what if it's _true_?"

“Stiles, people don’t just suddenly like the same gender because that person is supposed to be their soulmate,” Lydia tells him, “That’s Hollywood bullshit, not real life.”

“But, what if it’s true! What if I’m just that one guy out of everyone that he likes. Maybe he’s just good at pretending I’m actually a girl, I mean I’m skinny enough,” Stiles hunches in on himself as his self-consciousness about his body eats away at him.

“Stiles...” Allison frowns, trying to find the right words to say to her friend. “Sexuality doesn’t work like that. You usually just...there isn’t a good way to describe it, but someone doesn’t just turn gay suddenly.”

“I just...” Stiles shakes his head.

“Derek doesn’t seem the type of man who sticks to woman,” Lydia comments, “Listen, I get it. He’s basically the magazine cover for Macho Straight Man monthly, but when you think about certain things, he just doesn’t fit the narrative for a straight man.

Maybe it has something to do with his past, maybe it’s trauma, but he doesn’t just like you because you’re his mate.

Even if you guys weren’t mates, you would have ended up together eventually.”

Stiles gives Lydia a deer in a headlight look, “What do you mean by that?”

Lydia gives him a look back, "For the past five years, you've made a big show about how much you have a crush on me. Compliments, expensive birthday and Christmas gifts, completely over-the-top and yet sweet Valentines gifts. Did you think I wouldn't notice when suddenly the compliments stop? That the random bursts of trying to get my attention and pretending that we are fated to be suddenly became half-hearted and few?"

"When you put those things like that, I sound really annoying," Stiles points out with a frown, somewhat interrupting her, and Lydia smirks slightly.

"In an endearing new puppy way," she reassures him before shaking her head. "But that's not my point."

"I don't see a point," Stiles tells her honestly, and Lydia gives him a look.

"Perhaps if you let me finish, you'd see the point," Lydia says with a pointed tone, and Stiles looks sheepish. "You began gravitating towards Derek since the moment you've met him, stopping with the whole fake-crush on me as you developed a quieter and _real_ one on Derek. This is, of course, started when you barely knew him and before you got him arrested for murder."

Stiles winces, that is still the worst thing he's ever done, and he is still somewhat surprised that Derek forgave him so easily.

"You were drawn to him before knowing about mates and all," Lydia reminds him. "And Derek, if he had been totally straight, would not have cared if you were his mate for some reason. He'd have ignored it, probably put it down to his terrible luck, and wouldn't have cared when Jackson and I flirted with you.

But Derek did care, he got jealous, and he got a bit possessive with you before you began this relationship."

"Because I'm his mate, and he felt like you were encroaching on me," Stiles reminds her somewhat glumly, still self-conscious, and Lydia dearly wants to give him a shake.

“How are the smartest person I know and yet at the same time the dumbest?” she shakes her head, “You and Derek are meant to be with one another with how much you both are as emotionally constipated as a spoon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a good thing Derek’s going to therapy, you might as well join him so you can get your heads out of each other’s asses.”

“Lydia!” Allison burst with laughter at those words.

Stiles scrunches his nose up and gives them both a dirty look while Lydia switches to work on his other hand.

"You are both mean people," Stiles informs them with wounded dignity. "I bear my soul to you, and this is what I get?"

"I try to reassure you, but do you get it? No," Lydia tsks, somewhat marvelling that Stiles still hasn't noticed what she's doing. "Derek's emotionally constipated with a ton of issues, you are dumb emotionally and have a ton of self-confidence issues, you two suit each other."

"Lydia!" Allison chides, but the twitch of her lips gives away her humour and agreement before she turns to Stiles with a mischievous grin. "So, what sex have you had? And what made Derek howl this morning, I've been dying to know all day."

Stiles flushes, about to scratch at his hand when Allison grabs his wrists and beams at him when he looks at her in confusion.

"Well," Stiles clears his throat, friends shares their sexual experiences with each other, and he knows that at least Allison and Lydia will listen. "You know, just, kind of."

Stiles flushes, it's harder to talk about with Allison's focused interested on him and Lydia's distracted interest that's still very much _there_ and in his face.

"Just what?" Lydia looks up with a smirk, and Stiles flushes harder, sure he's looking more like a tomato by the minute.

"We've, kind of, been doing a bit of naked humping and rubbing," Stiles explains awkwardly. "And I've jerked Derek off while he...." Stiles bites his lip, totally sure that Derek didn't want _anyone_ to know about him fingering himself considering how he reacted to just _Stiles_ knowing, so he clears his throat and let them imagine whatever. "And this morning, I kind of, may have, rimmed him."

Allison blushes, and Lydia perks up at that.

“Wow. Already stream rolling to the dirty stuff,” she winks at Stiles.

“Rimming isn’t that dirty!” Stiles covers his mouth after that, almost afraid Chris is going to step into the room and give him a talk.

“You’re licking a man’s asshole, that’s pretty far on the dirty list,” Lydia smirks when Stiles’ ears get redder.

“So, since Derek’s your first time—how does it feel having sex with...” Allison trails off a bit.

“With the same sex? Um,” Stiles scratches the back of his head. “Honestly? It was less nerve wracking because we both have the same equipment—“

“Stiles, you can say dick.”

“I was trying to be polite! Anyways, yes we both have dicks, so it makes things easier.”

Stiles chews on his lips as he tries to figure out how to explain it in words.

"I've masturbated, like a _lot_ ," he admits while trying to ignore his blush, and Lydia little snicker. "So, when I was jerking Derek off, I was like, well, what makes _me_ feel good when I do it to myself. Which really took a lot of pressure off the whole thing, because if I just do what I normally do, then I can enjoy watching Derek's face."

"So, masturbation is the key to your successful so far in sex?" Lydia teases with a smirk, Stiles blushes harder. "Unless you are really flexible, you can't have done rimming before, and yet Derek seemed happy with it."

Stiles shudders slightly as he remembers the taste of Derek, the musky smell of pure Derek, and the way Derek hadn't been able to keep his hips still as Stiles licked him, and oh god, the _sounds_ Derek made.

"Beginner's luck?" Stiles offers with a slight shrug. "That, and I watched a lot of porn in my time."

"All featuring tall, muscular dark-haired man and leather," Lydia remembers with a smirk.

"I can't believe Danny outed my porn collection," Stiles complains, and Lydia shakes her head.

"I can't believe you didn't realise you were at least bi by the fact your more is mostly gay porn," Lydia says with her own disbelief. "So, do you know if you prefer to top or bottom yet? Or haven't you experimented with your new toy to find out?"

"Why are you so interested in my sex life?" Stiles demands with another blush, not knowing what to say.

Stiles _has_ added fingering to his masturbation sessions in the past, and yeah, it feels good, but watching the way Derek got so into it, the _noises_ that kept slipping from him, and how _good_ it obviously makes Derek feel, Stiles thinks he's either been missing something in the past or he's just not that into it.

Derek is, Stiles thinks to Derek's own surprise, but that doesn't mean that Derek will _actually_ want to bottom. What if it causes a freak-out?

Lydia sighs, “I guess because mine has practically dried up since the start of this year, and I know sooner, or later Jackson and I are going to break up. Not that either of us are going to be heartbroken over it. It’s something that’s been coming in the long run.”

“Oh...did Jackson say anything?”

“Didn’t have to,” Lydia gives a shrug and finishes off Stiles’ last hand, “I know he’s a gay man, and he knows I prefer woman over men. Sex between us was an open relationship; I either pegged him or I got to watch him get fucked by another man.”

Stiles makes a face at that, he has nothing against what Lydia and Jackson do in their own bedroom life. But he could never imagine sharing Derek or being shared with someone that wasn’t Derek. Even if he wasn’t in a relationship with Derek, Stiles just couldn’t imagine being in an open relationship, he was too clingy and self-conscious to even think of such a thing.

“Anyways, it’ll be a fresh start,” Lydia glances over at Allison who’s staring down at Stiles’ hand. “For the both of us.”

"I don't get why neither of you are out," Stiles admits as Lydia chooses a shimmering pale pink shade for Allison's nails as she knows pink is the other girl's favourite colour. "I mean, you are both best friends with Danny, and he's out."

"Danny is protected by popularity, the fact he's a jock, and the fact he doesn't act like a gay stereotype which allows the less evolved of our student body to ignore his sexuality if they don't accept it," Lydia reminds Stiles as she takes Allison's hand in hers. "It's different being an out gay man than it is to be an out gay woman, especially if you are pretty. You'll have the 'joking' offers of help to fix you, to show you what you are missing and so on, I didn't want to deal with that.

Jackson's issue stemmed from the source of _all_ his issues, and that's his adoption. Sure, neither of his parents have ever shown or talked badly about being gay, and they were very supportive of Danny when he came out—I think Mr Whittemore offered his legal aid if it was needed. But you know Jackson, the tangle of his issues regarding his self-worth and all about being adopted, I think he didn't want to disappoint his birth parents by gay," Lydia shrugs slightly as she finishes painting the first nail, and moves on to Allison's second. "Meeting Peter, knowing that the older man is one of his birth parents, and didn't care about if he's straight, bi _or_ gay? Well, I think that's helped settle him, and now I think he'd be alright with being out."

Lydia briefly bites her lip as she glances up at Allison, "And I've decided that I've had enough hiding who I am, and I think I've found a reason worth being out for."

Allison blushes slightly, ducking her head, and Stiles feels like he's somewhat intruding on this moment.

The somewhat sweet moment is over when Lydia looks over at him with a smirk, "You didn't answer my question, and I'm waiting."

“What question exactly are we talking about? You did ask me like twenty different questions at once,” Stiles grins back at her.

“Fine. If you want to dodge the question, I’ll let it slide, but I will be getting an answer out of you one day, Stiles,” Lydia smirks at the pale look on Stiles’ face. “By the way, your nails look lovely.”

“WH-hey!? What the hell? When did this happen?” Stiles looks down at his immaculately polished blue nails, blushing at how much the colour strikes out against his skin.

“While you were distract talking about Derek. I think the color looks good on you, and it certainly matches Derek’s eye color.”

“It does look really nice, but I think red would have gone better,” Allison adds.

“The worst! Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t see past either of your devilish disguises. Your dimples smile is a lie,” Stiles pretends to glare at Allison, who only smiles back.

"You really zone out when you're talking about Derek," Lydia marvels with a hint of a smirk. "It's almost sickeningly sweet."

Stiles pouts with a blush as he looks down at his nails, the blue _really_ is like the blue of Derek's wolf eyes, and Stiles pinks a bit more as he remembers those eyes locked on him when Derek stalked towards him earlier.

" _Oh_ ," Allison leans forward with a grin that boarders on a smirk. "I _have_ to know what you are thinking about to get _that_ look on your face."

Stiles blushes harder, unable to believe that he once thought that Allison Argent was an innocent person.

"Something to do with Derek, obviously," Lydia eyes Stiles over Allison's hand. "Probably something due to sex going by Stiles' blush."

Stiles can't even protest that it isn't due to sex because when Derek fell into _that_ stalk, all Stiles can really think of is sex and doing whatever Derek wants.

"He has this _stalk_ ," Stiles confesses as he flops onto his side. "It's like he's hunting me, and yet all I can think of is sex, and doing whatever Derek wants."

“A murder stalk?” Lydia asks.

“Yes. How did you—you know what? I don’t want to know. Anyways, yeah, he was doing this murder stalk thing on me earlier and I swear I was about to blow a load in my pants. Sometimes that man is too hot,” Stiles blushes as the words flood out of his mouth, but neither of the girls stop him from saying it all. “I really hope they can’t hear what I’m saying in the safety room.”

“If they could, don’t you think Derek would have been out here already?” Lydia gives him a knowing look.

“Fair point,” Stiles shivers at the thought of Derek doing that murder stalk thing again and pinning Stiles to their bed. Holy fuck—he needed to stop thinking, or else he was going to get a hardon in front of Lydia and Allison. “So how’s everyone’s weekend going so far, huh?”

"Not as good as yours, obviously," Lydia says with a smirk, and Stiles curses his fair skin as he blushes again. "And aside from the possibility that I'm an omen of death?"

"You're not an omen of death," Allison says fiercely before Stiles can, and Lydia gives the other girl a startled yet warm smile.

"I think this is the most fun I've had in a while," Lydia admits as she reaches for Allison's other hand, and Allison raises her first hand to admire the expertly down nail polish. "No need for a mask, no popularity games, a whole new world to learn about, and surrounded by good company, it's been the best weekend of the year so far."

"And just think, next weekend you'll be able to work with Peter to stock Stiles' wardrobe," Allison teases as Stiles groans and rolls over onto his back.

"Don't remind me," Stiles pouts before glancing up at them. "Did you know that Peter changed my shampoo and conditioner? Like, I thought him getting rid of my clothes was bad enough, but then he changed my shampoo and conditioner!"

Lydia bites her lip to stop herself from laughing while Allison freely giggles.

"What did he change it to?" Allison asks curiously, and Stiles almost blushes because he's only just realised that the scent of them is sandalwood— _Derek's_ scent—and the brand of shampoo and conditioner is the same as _Derek's._

Lydia smirks, already able to tell that Stiles' answer is going to be good by the look on his face.

"Sandalwood," Stiles admits as he covers his face as he continues in a quieter voice. "Derek's scent."

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Now you can both smell like each other,” Allison gushes.

“Ugh, is it lame that I wish Derek was here? I really just want to cuddle with that grumpy wolf. Like he’s growing his beard out and it’s all soft and scratchy at the same time,” Stiles scrubs at his red face, and grabs a pillow off from the couch so he can cover his face with it. “I’m sorry. I can’t shut up about Derek.”

“Oh sweetie, it’s okay. And totally understandable, Derek’s a handsome man. I would be the same way if I were with him,” Lydia pats Stiles’ shoulder.

“He’s just—“ at that Stiles makes an incomprehensible noise as he shoves the pillow into his face. “Is this what those teenage girls on tv sound like? Because I totally understand all the squealing they make when they talk about hot boys.”

Allison snickers at the thought of Stiles squealing like those TV teenage girls, and Lydia smirks slightly as she finishes off Allison's hand.

"I think it's cute," Allison admits as she raises her hands to admire, and then she blows on them in hopes of drying them quicker, so she can do Lydia's nails in return.

"Not that I'm only gushing about him because he's hot," Stiles says as he lowers his pillow. "I mean, he's _really_ hot, but that's not just why I like him."

"We know that," Lydia reassures him as Stiles hugs the pillow to the chest.

"I think this is the first night we haven't been together since we got together," Stiles muses, staring up at the ceiling, and frowning. "I don't like it."

Derek should be _here_ , where Stiles can cuddle with him, and they can talk or watch movies, or something like that until they fall asleep together.

"Aww," Allison coos as she sprawls out next to Stiles, thrusting her hands in the air and waving them slightly as she's still dubious about if they are dry enough for her to do Lydia's. "That's so sweet."

"If slightly needy," Lydia adds as she goes through both her and Allison's collection of nail polish for a colour to choose. "Go about to telling us about your sex life, you'll be too busy trying not to get a hardon, or blush too much to miss him."

Stiles chokes and Allison almost cries with laughter beside him.

"Lydia!" Stiles almost wheezes out in protest, and Lydia just smirks at him.

"What? I don't have much of a sex life, you have a budding one," she shrugs. "I need details, Stiles."

"But I don't know what he'll want to do or try!" Stiles protests before staring at the ceiling for a moment. "I know what I need to do."

"Oh no," Lydia says quietly while Allison turns her head to look at Stiles in question.

"What?" Allison asks innocently.

"I need to make a questionnaire!" Stiles sits up with a determined look on his face. "A questionnaire about sex things an-and maybe other couple things, for Derek!"

“Oh dear,” Lydia says as she watched Stiles scramble to stand up and rushes out of the room to grab Derek’s laptop.

The man had given him permission to use it before and then Stiles hadn’t had a need to use it, but now it’s a major need.

Coming back into the living room, Stiles flops back down on the couch and opens the laptop. Lydia makes a noise as she sees him walk into the room with what looks like a completely brand new computer.

“Is that Derek’s?” she asks, peering over Stiles’ shoulder as she watches him open up a blank word document.

“Yeah, Peter got him and me new phones and some other stuff. Derek usually uses it for school work and emails,” Stiles explains.

“I didn’t know Derek was taking classes,” Lydia tilts her head, “I remember seeing the architecture books in his room.”

“Yeah, he’s double majoring in architectural design and metal work. He likes working with his hands.” Stiles blushes at those words, remembering the way Derek’s warm hands sliding over his skin like brands.

“That’s so cool. I hope he’ll show us some of his work when he finishes it,” Allison comments from where she’s still sitting on the ground.

"He's transferring in the middle of the academic year, so there's some delay as the college in New York sends his course-work over and his new one sorts out which classes he needs to do, what classes he's done, and things like that," Stiles says as he adjusts the size of the font—really, eleven is too small when writing.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Lydia almost sighs as she hands Allison a bottle of rose-gold nail polish, and Allison smiles as she shakes it while Lydia spreads out her hands for Allison. "You're going to make a questionnaire about sex for your boyfriend to fill out."

"And other couple things," Stiles reminds Lydia because it's not just about sex.

Stiles already told Derek it's not about sex, and he refuses to make himself out to be a liar with this questionnaire!

"What type of couple things?" Allison asks curiously as she grabs Lydia's hand, ready to paint Lydia's nails.

"Well, I know hand-holding is okay in public, and hugs, but what about kissing? Does he want to go out for dates? Or just prefer to stay home?" Stiles asks as he looks over the laptop at them. "Does he mind if we're Facebook official or would he want to keep it strictly off social networks?"

"And the sex questions?" Lydia questions, Chris turning on his heel back into the kitchen as he decides the teenagers are fine and obviously don't need him to check on them.

"You know, the standard questions," Stiles says in an attempt to sound knowledgeable. "Kinks and all that."

"You have no idea, do you?" Lydia asks him with a smirk, a mad desire to laugh making her lips twitch.

"That's why I'm doing it with you two!" Stiles exclaims as he titles his questionnaire.

'Derek, which of these is a yes, a no and a maybe?' simple and straight to the point, Stiles thinks to himself.

* * *

Derek huffs as he watches Scott snarl and claw at the ground from where he’s locked up against the wall. Jackson on the other side locked up as well, since he lost control the moment the moon went up and Scott started howling.

“I’m going to gag them both if they don’t stop snarling,” Derek grumbles, his claws tapping against the concrete wall.

While he also feels the pull of the moon, it’s not strong enough to have him wanting to sink his teeth into every breathing thing around him. Unless it was Stiles—yes, his wolf would happily sink his teeth into that soft pale skin, wants to roll around in his den with his mate, hold him tightly against his body and then hump—

Shaking those thoughts away, Derek grunts and scrapes his claws against the walls until there’s thin white lines left behind.

“Relax, Pup. You’re starting to sound like an impatient child. It’s Jackson’s first moon and Scott’s second, you know how much harder it is for bitten wolves to learn control,” Peter comes over to pat his son’s shoulder.

“I know. It’s just...” he shrugs his mother’s hand off of him, and moves to a lone corner so he can sit in the silence.

Derek leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes as he tries not to focus on either his brother or Scott.

But the only thing that appears in his mind is _Stiles_.

His mate is outside of this room, waiting for him, and Derek _should_ be with him.

They should be in their den, they should be naked together, and Derek groans as he remembers earlier, remembers Stiles' mouth on his throat, his teeth biting down and _claiming_ Derek.

Derek remembers how easily his legs had fallen open for Stiles, how he bared his throat to his mate, and how _pretty_ Stiles thought he looked like that.

He wishes they could have continue, that Derek could see where Stiles went. Would he have fucked against Derek's ass again? Or would he had jerked them off together like they sometimes did in porn?

Or, and Derek flushes in arousal and embarrassment as something hot and somewhat shamed runs through him, maybe Stiles would rim him again.

Derek thinks of how Stiles spread him wide, the hot and _wet_ feel of Stiles' tongue against him, and Derek shudders with another hot flush that he knows settles on his face.

He shouldn't have liked it, Derek knows.

It's dirty, wrong, and yet the feel of Stiles' tongue and fingers in him made him _howl_.

Derek's claws dig into the concrete floor as he tries to wrestle a different type of control over himself as he feels him harden and twitch in his sweatpants.

He _wants_ Stiles, he wants to touch him, to feel him, to _taste_ him.

He thinks of pinning Stiles to their bed, pulling down his sweatpants and boxers, and _finally_ having a proper taste of Stiles, to feel him heavy on his tongue, stretch his lips around the girth of Stiles' cock, and take him in as deep as possible as Stiles gasps and moans, arching and clutching at Derek.

Derek's good with his mouth, he _knows_ that, knows just the right amount of tongue to suction, how to use his hand in time with his mouth to hurry someone to cum, and how to make it _last._

Breathing heavily a little, Derek grips the front of his pants as he thinks about all these things.

He should be embarrassed with how hard he is right now, but honestly he could care less.

The man just wants his mate, and for a slight moment, just one quick thought, Derek thinks about fighting against his Alpha and hunting down his mate.

Wants to pin Stiles to the ground, to their bed, on any surface at this very moment and have his way with the teenager.

Derek freezes at those thoughts, and suddenly he no longer feels hot and heavy from arousal. He-he would never go against his Alpha’s wishes, the last time he did it ended in tragedy.

And with Stiles? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. His mate probably didn’t even _want_ sex at this moment, was probably tired of Derek always hounding after him about it too.

Fuck, he’s such a selfish asshole.

He need to apologize to Stiles, buy his mate flowers and—and chocolate or whatever else you get for your lover. Derek was going to make up his behaviour, and if Stiles wanted to do anything then he would happily let the man do it to him.

“Derek!” Peter comes over to settle down in front of his son, “You smell nervous. What’s wrong, pup?”

Derek looks at his mother— _his mother!_ And he thought about fighting against him!—and his stomach drops as he realises what he had been thinking.

He hadn't just been thinking about fighting his mother, but of pinning Stiles down and having sex with him, like-like his—

Derek turns away from his mother and heaves, feeling sick and horrified, trying not to be sick and yet needing some relief from the horror in him as he digs his claws into his thighs.

"Pup!" Peter places his hand on Derek's shoulder. "Derek, what's wrong? What happened?"

It had been Derek that said he hadn't been ready for sex, and Stiles accepted it, agreed to wait, and then what did Derek do? He had gotten _jealous, possessive_ , and they ended up having sex because of _Derek!_

Oh god, _oh god,_ he's just like _his dad!_

It's not even the first time he's thought about just taking Stiles, Derek remembers in the shower, and he remembers rubbing his thumb against Stiles' hole, thinking about just fucking into Stiles, into taking him then and there, and he only didn't because he wanted their first time to be special!

"I'm just like _him_ ," Derek says as Peter tries to stop him digging his claws into his thighs. "I'm just like _him_ , and I'm so damn _selfish_."

Peter feels his heart drop at those words, “No, no, Pup, you’re nothing like that monster.”

“But I am, I’m-I’m so greedy. Why can’t I be normal—fuck, things would have ended up so much better if I wasn’t always thinking with my dick,” Derek sobs, clawing at his own skin while Peter holds him.

“Derek, what happened?” Peter tries to asks, grabbing Derek’s claws to stop him from clawing deeper into his skin.

“I didn’t—I’m always—“ Derek snarls as he hears Scott growl from where he’s tied up against the wall.

“It’s okay, Derek, they can’t understand you right now,” Peter strokes the side of his son’s face.

“I think...I’m pretty sure I hurt Stiles. I did things without asking first, I just _assumed_ he wanted it without even checking,” Derek shakes at those words.

“Did he tell you no? Tell you to stop? Or said that you hurt him?”

“No, but—Stiles is too nice, he probably wouldn’t have even said anything,” Derek tugs at his own hair.

Peter would have snorted in any other situation at the idea of Stiles being too _nice_ not to say if he didn't like or want something, but he doesn't snort, can't find any humour in it when his son is still trying to find a way to harm himself, to physically _punish_ himself.

"If Stiles didn't want to do something, he'd let you know," Peter gently untangles Derek's hands from his own hair. "You know him, he isn't shy about saying things like that."

"I said we should wait," Derek tells Peter, trying to make him see just how much Derek is like his father. "I said we should wait, and then I got jealous, possessive, and we had sex because of _that_. I said I wasn't ready, and I did _that_ , I took him away just to have sex with him, and I didn't ask if he wanted it. I just—"

Derek just kept seeing Stiles standing up with that annoyed look, his hands falling to his jeans, and smelling the spike of arousal from Jackson, and he had _snapped_.

Stiles _had_ said that they should stop, and oh god, Derek hadn't, hadn't been able to stop just like he feared because Stiles had been hard under him, and he could feel it, and he just wanted to touch more, and he _took_ Stiles away from the others just so he could.

"He said we should stop," Derek remembers in a horrified tone of voice. "He said we should stop, and I _didn't_."

"When did he say this?" Peter asks after swallowing.

Derek _wouldn't_ , Peter knows this with certainty, because Derek is good, he's Peter's precious and sensitive boy, and he'd _never_ hurt anyone like that.

"He said we should stop," Derek repeats, still stuck on that.

"Derek, when did he say this and what did he say afterwards?" Peter asks firmly, needing to pull Derek out of his spiral.

"W-we were in the library with the others," Derek remembers, stuck in his own horror. "I took him away from them, took him to our den."

"And then?" Peter coaxes him gently.

“I took him away from the others because I wanted to-to claim him. To make sure everyone know who he belonged to and then he had to stop me,” Derek shivers at the memory.

Peter runs his hand down Derek’s back, and scratches at his sons scalp, glancing over at the two Beta’s he has chained up for the moment, he notes the tired look in both of their eyes as they grow exhausted from fighting against the chains.

“How about this; you calm down enough and I’ll let you leave the room so you can talk to Stiles. I think you both need a moment to just sit down without anyone interrupting and to talk things out. I’ll check on these two, and see if I can get them to focus on their control before coming out to check on the both of you.”

Derek looks at his mother with a nervous look on his face, “Do you think it’ll be safe since it’s the full moon? What if—what if I hurt—“

“Don’t. Derek, I may have not gotten the chance to raise you as my own child, but if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you would never hurt someone you love,” Peter interrupts before Derek can let the worry eat at him completely.

"But I've already hurt him," Derek says in a voice heavy with guilt, and Peter pulls his son into a hug, far too brief for his liking, but he knows that Derek needs to talk to Stiles.

"You haven't," Peter says fiercely, refusing to believe for a single moment that Derek has done what he fears.

"He said stop, and I _didn't_ ," Derek repeats in that same horror-struck voice that Peter hates, and Peter presses a hard kiss to the side of Derek's head.

"You need to talk to Stiles," Peter tells him before letting go of his son, and he stands in one fluid movement.

Perhaps Peter should have gone to Scott first, checked on the Omega as he had a rougher time of it, but Jackson is _his_ son, and it's Jackson's first full moon, so it's to Jackson that Peter goes.

Jackson blinks slowly, his golden-eyes heavy with sleep as he slumps against the wall, and Peter cups his son's neck, making Jackson go lax with a tired whine.

"Tired yourself out, huh Pup?" Peter asks with a slightly chuckle, helping his son slip down the wall and giving the chains more give, so they don't pull his arms awkwardly, and Jackson gives another whine as Peter's hand strokes up his neck and cups his cheek, snuffling as he nuzzles into his Alpha's hand. "Can you think about Stiles for me, Pup?"

Peter senses rather than sees Derek flinch in on himself at the sound of Stiles' name, a reaction he had hoped he'd never see in Derek, and Jackson blinks again, slow with tiredness, and slowly the gold fades to blue as Jackson pulls the change back.

"Mom?" Jackson questions thickly, his voice a mere rasp due to howling and snarling, and Jackson winces slightly.

"You back with me, I see," Peter observes as he reaches out for one of the water-bottles he stashed in here earlier, unscrewing the lid and helping Jackson take small gulps of warm water. "Feeling more in control?"

"Fucking McCall," Jackson mutters between sips. "I'd have been fine if it wasn't for him."

“It’s alright, Pup. Just goes to show you’re gonna need some more practice with your control if you let these little things get in your way,” Peter pats his son’s shoulder. “If you can be good for a while longer I’ll let you out of those chains, but you’re still going to be in here.”

“Sure. But I can’t say I’ll stay in control if he tries to attack you,” Jackson states, stretching and groaning when his muscles pop and stretch from being in his Beta shift for so long.

“Of course, Pup,” Peter grins as he stands up, he takes a deep breath to calm himself down before walking over to where Scott is.

“Scott, you think you could try not to claw at me? It would greatly displease me if you did,” Peter talks as if he’s working with a small child.

Scott doesn’t hear a thing as he snarls at the approaching Alpha, flashing gold eyes and straining in his chains.

Sighing, Peter mutters more to himself, “Of course you’re going to be difficult.”

Peter is faced with two choices; he could either attempt to talk Scott down again, and most likely fail due to Scott's inability to listen in his current state, which is not helped by his disinclination to listen in his normal state, or Peter could make him submit.

Truly, Peter doesn't have to think about it long, and he knows he'll take too much joy in this, but well, he doesn't really care, and he thinks he's entitled to take his joy where and when he can after what he's been through.

 _And it's not like Chris is here to tell me off for being mean to the Omega_ , Peter thinks to himself as he cracks his neck and lets the Beta shift take over for the first time this night.

Of course the silly boy thrashes more, snarling as he attempts to lunge forward despite obviously being out classed by Peter.

Peter doesn't bother crouching down, it'd only stroke the Omega's ego to be considered a threat—something Peter doesn't—and he takes a deep breath before he _roars_.

Peter roars with all the power of an Alpha, the roar more potent considering they are in the heart of Peter's den and surrounded by his Pack, and he uses the roar to press down on Scott's wolf, to force his wolf to submit and retreat away from his displeasure until Scott is again human faced and panting in the chains as he stares at Peter with something close to fearful on his face.

Peter lets his Beta shift without trouble, cracking his neck again to release some of the built up tension, and observes Scott with a frown.

"You're going to be difficult to deal with," Peter remarks with a sigh.

"You're not my Alpha," Scott almost pants through gritted teeth, as if he's trying to remind himself, no doubt still reeling from the control Peter still has over him and his wolf due Peter being both an Alpha and the wolf who bit him.

"And you're not my Beta," Peter agrees easily, catching the flinch Scott gives despite himself. "However you are in my den, and I expect _some_ control."

Scott roars, thrashing and trying to claw at any part of Peter’s body that he can reach. The Alpha chuffs, and leans back when Scott goes for another swipe.

“ _Scott_. I am trying to be nice about this, but if you insist on acting like a child, I will—“

“Fuck you!” Scott growls, thrashing and howling with utter rage.

Sighing, Peter punches the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t want to use brute force to teach Scott control, but the Omega is being utterly difficult about every little thing.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Peter sighs to himself.

He glared when he hears Jackson snicker from where he’s still chained against the wall.

“Jackson, play nice or I’ll keep you in here for the rest of the night,” Peter huffs, walking over to unlock the chains since he knows his son won’t let his anger get to him again.

“Promise?” Jackson grins, getting excited at the prospect of seeing Stiles and Lydia.

"As long as you play nice, you are free," Peter repeats before glancing to where Derek is sitting with his head hanging in guilt. "But first, your brother needs to talk to Stiles. Let them, okay?"

Jackson almost complains, almost points out how Derek is _always_ hogging Stiles, but he inhales through his nose and under the frustration his mother is feeling due to Scott is worry, and Derek almost reeks of horror and guilt, and Jackson almost swallows his tongue in his haste to stop any whining complaints slipping out.

He wants to ask what happened, what did he miss in his anger over McCall, but Peter's eyes warn him not to say anything, and he simply nods his agreement as Peter releases him from the chains.

"Derek," Peter calls, and he almost flinches from the broken look of guilt and horror on his face. "Go, talk to Stiles."

Derek swallows thickly, for once not wanting to be near his mate, but he forces himself to stand of shaky feeling legs, and he moves almost numbly to the doorway leading back to the back of the bookcase door.

The moment the door slides open, Derek can hear Stiles' heartbeat and his laugh coming from the living room, and Derek hesitates at the threshold, not wanting to ruin anything else.

But he's weak to the pull of his mate, and he finds his feet moving without his permission, heading to the living room and to Stiles, to face the judgement of his mate that he hurt without even realising it.

* * *

“Stiles?” Derek ventures into the room, freezing when he sees his mate standing in the living room with his hands holding a stack of paper.

“Derek? Hey! You’re just in time! I thought you were gonna be there all night!” Stiles comes over and takes Derek’s hand, “I think we should move to your room though, so we can have a little more privacy. Lydia and Allison are watching a movie so that gives us some time to talk about something’s.”

“Things? What uh-what things?” Derek asks, the nervousness eating at him as Stiles takes him to their den.

“Things! Relationship things!” Stiles closes the door to the room and pushes Derek so he’s sitting down on the bed.

Stiles straightens the papers his hands on the desk, before taking a seat on the desk chair and handing the papers over to Derek, along with a pen that he fumbles around to find before handing it over.

“Stiles, wha—“

“So, I made this questionnaire to get to know you a little better. Along with things you like, like things in general or your kinks, sexual preferences. And just anything that came to mind, and I wanted you to fill it out so I could get to know you better.”

Derek looks down at the papers in his hand, the title staring back at him 'Derek, which of these is a yes, a no and a maybe?' followed by a whole list of questions and things that Derek doesn't yet read.

Stiles did _this_? Even after what Derek did?

Derek swallows thickly as he gently places the papers to the side, dropping the pen on it, and he turns to look at Stiles, whose excitement has dimmed with his actions.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Stiles immediately asks, looking chagrined as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, a flash of electric-blue nails catching Derek's attention briefly. "Lydia tried to tell me, but I thought this would work out better, it'll let you think about things without worrying about wording it right, just a simple yes or no next to it, or even a maybe, but it's too much, right? Too weird, I—"

"I raped you."

Stiles' mouth moves without a sound as the younger teen gapes at Derek, looking as startled by Derek's outburst as Derek feels at blurting it out, and then his brows furrow as he stares at Derek.

"No, you didn't," Stiles denies simply and with some confusion as he frowns at Derek. "I think I would remember that."

Derek fists his hands as he refuses to let Stiles wipe away what he has done.

"In the library, you said we should stop, and I _didn't_ ," Derek shudders as he remembers what he did, and Stiles frowns a bit more before his expression clears slightly. "You said stop, and I didn't listen, I kept—"

"I said we should stop, being as in stop there and in front of the others," Stiles interrupts firmly. "I'm not a wolf, I'm not used to sharing that part of myself with others, and I didn't want my first time to be in public. You took me away from the others, you brought me to the safety of our den, and then you held yourself back because you didn't trust yourself, do you remember that bit? Remember how I said we could stop if you weren't ready, but you wanted to continue, and we kissed a bit before we did anything."

“But—I-I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek feels his hands shake as he says the words.

“I know you don’t Derek, and I know you never would,” Stiles leans forward to touch Derek’s hand. “But I need you to know that there’s a difference in our relationship from the ones you had previously. I’m not ever going to hurt you, use you or manipulate you. Ever.”

“I know. I trust you,” Derek leans forward, blushing at how needy he is.

“If you want, we can just relax? Chill before working on this questionnaire.”

“No. It’s—I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I want to do it, because I know it’ll make you happy,” Derek smiles.

“Just remember. You can take a break whenever you want to,” Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s forehead, before settling back into his chair.

Part of Derek wants Stiles to be next to him, to be able to curl up with his mate, but he knows it'll only distract him from everything else apart from Stiles, and he does want to take the questionnaire because Stiles obviously put some time and effort into it.

He grabs the collection of papers, clicks the pen, and almost huffs a laugh at the first question.

_You do have a favourite colour apart from black, right? What is it?_

Of course one of Stiles' first questions would be as basic as his favourite colour, Derek thinks with some amusement, using the warm emotion to steady himself from the earlier horror and guilt that still lingers despite Stiles' words, despite remember _all_ of what happened the first time they had sex.

He didn't force Stiles, but he also _didn't_ stop immediately when Stiles said they should, and it may fall into a grey area considering Stiles hadn't meant stop everything, it still makes him feel guilty that he continued to touch when Stiles said stop.

_**Yes, green.** _

_What's your favourite movie? Like all-time favourite movie!_

Derek smiles slightly, the questions so obviously Stiles in a way that makes him smile, before he chews slightly on his lower lip as he tries to remember his favourite movie.

It's just been so long since Derek's thought about his favourite _anything_ that it takes him a moment.

 _ **Princess Mononoke**_ , he writes with a hint of an embarrassed flush.

 _Is it okay if I call you my boyfriend? Because we are boyfriends, right? Not just mates, not just_ **_something_ ** _, but also boyfriends, right?_

Derek can almost _feel_ how self-conscious Stiles must have felt writing out this rambling questions that barely counted as a single question, and he chews at the inside of his cheek as he realises that Stiles still feels uncertain about _them_ and their relationship.

 _ **Yes,**_ Derek writes firmly, wanting to underline the answer several times.

Derek goes through the first _three_ pages with ease, a smile running its way on his face at how cute some of the questions are or how silly some can be. When he flips to the next page, Derek feels his entire face go blank.

_Kinks?? If you have any._

God, Stiles—his mate could be so shameless at times. Even though he grew up as a werewolf, Derek didn’t discuss _these_ kinds of things, not with anyone.

Kate hadn’t bothered to ask, and basically stated what she liked is what he was going to like. Derek had agreed and suffered when things became too much for him or made him feel sick to the stomach.

Tapping the pen against the paper, Derek glances up at Stiles to see his mate distracted playing something on his phone. Feeling the light release of pressure on his shoulders from not being watched as he answers these questions, Derek ventures down the list.

He immediately strikes off things that are a hard **no** , and writes a few notes on the margins of a few other things he dislikes.

After that he starts to look through the things unmarked, fidgeting when his mind leads a stray and fills his head with images. Things he wants to do to Stiles and things he wants Stiles to do to him.

It has him feeling like a teenager again, when he had his first wet dream and couldn’t stop blushing. Afraid that Stiles is going to know what he’s thinking about and call him out on it.

But Stiles is making a point not to look at Derek, sitting a distance away and on his phone, and it relieves some of Derek's worry and embarrassment, and Derek can focus on the lists.

It's easy enough to strike off the bondage kinks, Derek itches at the idea of being restrained in _anyway_ even with Stiles, and the age play question makes Derek pull a slightly face as he crosses it off.

Pain play as a whole is something that Derek strikes off, but he does like Stiles tugging on his hair and biting his throat, and he likes biting Stiles back, littering Stiles' fair skin with bruises that _claim_ Stiles as _his_ , so he adds that to the margins just in case.

Degradation and humiliation is _not_ something he is into, not something he wants directed at him—not again—and not something he'd like direct at Stiles, so he strikes them off too.

Derek chews on his inner cheek as he tries to think about things he'd like to explore as he scans the pages, it's easier to find things he doesn't like.

Impact play is a mostly no area, but the idea of Derek spanking Stiles or getting spanked by Stiles? There's a hint of interest, a shiver of arousal, and Derek strikes off impact play before adding a note to trying spanking.

Derek almost gapes at Stiles when he notes that water-sports has somehow made the list, and Derek almost asks what Stiles thinks he's into. But he catches himself, just strongly crossing it off instead.

Derek hesitates over orgasm delaying and denial, thinks about the cock-ring that Stiles bought from the sex shop, and blushes as he writes a simple yes to that question as he thinks of either bringing Stiles to the edge again and _again_ , or Stiles doing the same for him.

Derek doesn't hesitate over the questions about marking each other with their cum, nor does he hesitate over the question of giving a blowjob, but he does about receiving one which feels silly, but Derek hasn't really had much experience with receiving one.

Men have paid Derek to receive a blowjob, but few cared enough to give Derek one in return or wanted to.

Derek _has_ been given blowjobs in the past, but he could probably count the number of times on both hands with fingers left over.

* * *

When he finishes with the papers, Derek hands it over to Stiles with his cheeks still on fire from blushing all the time. Stiles gives him a sweet smile before setting his phone down on the desk and taking the papers.

“I’m gonna read over this, if you wanna go get some water or change into something comfortable,” Stiles states, straightening the papers once more before looking at the first page. “Green? That’s actually really cool. I like green.”

“It’s a nice colour,” Derek shrugs, feeling a little self-conscious on his choice of colour.

Stiles looks up from the pages, giving Derek a soft look.

“I’m not making fun of you. You know that right?” he gets up from his seat and goes over to sit down next to Derek, “I’d never hurt your feelings. Ever.”

"I know," Derek says, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. "Just not used to _this_."

Not used to people wanting to know things about him, not used to people caring enough about him to want to know these things.

"Yeah, I suppose I'm the first one to come up with a weird questionnaire, huh?" Stiles looks slightly embarrassed as Derek looks at him, a sheepish smile curling at his lips as he rubs the back of his neck.

"I liked it," Derek tells him, leaning to press his shoulder against Stiles' for a moment of comfort. "Thank you."

"For being weird?" Stiles jokes, the embarrassment easing from his scent, and something warm and content taking its place, and Derek smiles almost helplessly .

"Don't call my boyfriend weird," Derek says, feeling a bit bold, and Stiles' breathing hitches as he stares at Derek for a long moment which makes Derek feel slightly self-conscious, makes him feel like he made a misstep somewhere, and then Stiles almost flings himself at Derek, curling and clinging tightly as Derek rocks sideways a bit due to the unexpected force.

" _Boyfriend_ ," Stiles repeats against Derek's shoulder, a wondering wobble to the words, and Stiles squeezes Derek tightly for a moment before letting go with joyous and somewhat wet sounding laugh as he covers his face. "God, I'm so weird, getting so worked up by such a little thing."

Derek curls his hands gently around Stiles' wrists, tugging slightly until Stiles relents and lets Derek pull his hands away from his face, and Derek is quiet as he takes in Stiles' red face and slightly wet eyes, and he ducks his head to place a gentle kiss on Stiles' forehead.

"You're not weird," Derek tells him, feeling guilty that he hadn't realises just how important having a clear label on their relationship was to Stiles until this moment. "My boyfriend isn't weird."

"You have no idea how much I like that," Stiles confesses as he closes his eyes and bites his lower lip. "You calling me your boyfriend."

“My boyfriend,” Derek agrees, feeling warm from using the word unlike before when just the thought of such a thing had him nervous and rolling with anxiety. “Did um—did you want to fill out a questionnaire like this. So I know things about you too?”

Stiles snorts, “As if I didn’t already have one filled out. Do you even know me?”

“Apparently, not as much as I thought I did,” Derek grins, watching as Stiles leans forward to kiss him.

He melts under that soft touch, and can’t help the way he pulls Stiles a little closer to him with the urge for _more_.

When Stiles pulls back, his mate smells like the fresh scent of morning sunlight.

Stiles reaches up to stroke the side of Derek’s face and says, “We should read these papers first before doing anything else.”

“Okay,” Derek sounds so strange, even to himself, like he’s been taken over by a happier and fresher version of himself. “Can we sit together? Or—“

“Yeah! Please, like I’m going to pass up the opportunity to cuddle.”

Derek can't help, but duck his head and kiss Stiles again, resisting the urge to pull Stiles closer.

"I should get my questionnaire," Stiles says as he pulls away, sounding as if he's reminding himself more than Derek. "You get comfy, get a drink or something, I'll be right back, okay?"

"Yeah," Derek agrees despite wanting Stiles to stay in their den, and he lets go of Stiles reluctantly, knowing he'll take the short time without Stiles in the room to either change his sweatpants—he's thankful they are black, and thus don't show any of the blood from his episode in the safe room—or just put on some boxers.

Stiles leans forward to give Derek one last and chaste kiss, pulling away with obvious reluctance, and then Stiles is up and heading for the door.

There's an urge in Derek to chase Stiles down, throw him over his shoulder and keep him in their den, keep him safe, but he resists the urge as he stands and pulls down his sweatpants, grimacing at the way they peel off due to dried blood.

The wounds had long ago healed, but the blood lingered and needed to be swiped off his thighs before Stiles could see it and get worried about Derek.

Derek bundles up the sweatpants and throws them into the hamper as he walks naked into his bathroom to scrub off the blood, knowing he needs to hurry if he didn't want to worry Stiles.

Derek doesn't look into the mirror as he wets a washcloth, he just leans against the sink counter as he wipes the blood from his thighs in quick and practised swipes.

The washcloth gets thrown in the hamper, a towel is briefly used to dry his thighs, and Derek is able to re-enter his bedroom before Stiles' hurried footsteps hit the hallway, and Derek thinks he'll probably be pulling his boxers up by the time Stiles arrives.

* * *

Derek's right, he's just pulling his boxers up and past his knees when the doors open, and a spike of Stiles' arousal announces his mate's presence. Derek can't help the way he preens as he feels his mate's gaze.

“Sorry, I’m almost finished changing,” Derek wipes away the smirk on his face as he pulls on a new pair of sweats.

“Okay,” Stiles’ voice makes a soft squeak, scrubbing at his red face when Derek turns to face him, and then mutters under his breath, “Show off.”

“What?” Derek pretends like he doesn’t have super hearing.

“Nothing, nothing,” Stiles feels his ears burn as he walks over and pushes at Derek’s chest. “Get in the bed asshole.”

“Oh? So, I’m the asshole now?” Derek snickers, climbing into the corner of the bed, propping the pillows up so he can lean back.

“Yes, yes you are. The meanest asshole I know,” Stiles huffs, sitting down next to him.

He leans over and wipes that smirk off of Derek’s face with a quick kiss, before slapping his set of questions against his boyfriend’s chest.

Derek grabs the papers before they can flutter down to his lap, and Stiles shifts and settles back against the pillows with Derek's own answers, shifting slightly to press his shoulder against Derek's.

It settles something in Derek to feel Stiles' warmth, to feel him against his side, and he relaxes against the pillows as he looks down on the first place.

Derek isn't surprised to see orange and blue as Stiles' favourite colours though the addition of red is a bit of a surprise, and he smirks as he reads Stiles' answer.

_**Yes, I'm aware that means I could probably called Little Red Riding Hoodie as a joke.** _

Of course, Stiles would write something like that.

Derek isn't surprised by the answer of Star Wars as Stiles' favourite movies of all time.

"Your birthday is the first of April?" Derek asks in disbelief, and Stiles looks up from Derek's questionnaire with a grin.

"Yeah," Stiles answers easily, "apparently Dad thought Mom was pulling a prank on him when she called that she was in labour since it's April Fool's day, and he didn't believe right up until one of her friends pulled up outside the station, and Mom waddled out while panting with pain, and screamed at Dad to get his ass in the car because he wasn't missing the birth of their child."

"While in labour?" Derek says in disbelief, and Stiles shrugs.

"It apparently took me five hours before I was truly ready to embrace the world, so it wasn't like I was about to fall out of her or anything," Stiles tells him, and Derek shakes his head in disbelief as Stiles pauses thoughtfully. "Huh, I wonder if Peter will know who drove my parents to the hospital. Mom always laughed when I asked, and Dad just grumbles and avoids answering me, and I know it's not Peter because they would have just told me."

Stiles tactfully doesn't wonder if Peter had a funny labour story like his, not when he knows that Derek was taken from him, and he got locked up in Eichen House by the end of it.

Turning to give Derek a smile, hoping that it doesn’t lead to any bad memories.

Derek reads further, snickering at the answers Stiles had for most of the question. Some of them going off onto little rambles that had Derek pushing to press against Stiles’ warm skin.

“Something funny?” Stiles teases, turning his head to press a chaste kiss to Derek’s cheek.

“Nothing. I just think your little rambles are cute,” Derek tells him, reaching over to squeeze Stiles’ free hand.

“I’m glad someone enjoys it, because then I’d just be talking to myself all day long.”

Derek flips the page, his body freezing up when he sees the next pages are on _Stiles’ kinks_. Clearing his throat he ventures forth looking at all the things Stiles checked for “No”.

He's not surprised that Stiles has crossed out age-play with an addition saying he's not into anything that could edge into daddy-kinks, humiliation and degradation is likewise crossed out.

Pain play is limited to biting and maybe a bit of scratching, and impact is limited to trying out spanking which Derek is happy with.

His gaze drops down to the next one, and he actually gapes as he reads what Stiles says.

_**I know you werewolves have urges to mark your territory, and since I'm your mate that I probably count. I'm not into the whole water-sports thing, but I will be willing to do it if you need to, but only in the shower!** _

"What do you think werewolves are into?" Derek blurts out in disbelief, realising why water-sports had somehow ended up on the kink list now, and Stiles looks up with a bit of flail as he had been engrossed in memorising as much about Derek as possible.

"Wha— _oh_ ," Stiles' gaze drops to the page, and he turns sheepish. "I don't know! I just know that animals like to mark their territory—"

"We're werewolves! Not actual animals!" Derek interrupts, and Stiles slumps in what smells like relief.

"Oh thank god," Stiles utters with great feeling. "I didn't know if I could actually go through with it."

Derek doesn't know if he should shake his head or laugh at Stiles as the younger teen goes back to Derek's questionnaire with visible relief, and Derek just gives a huff as he turns back to the questionnaire.

“Sorry, I was reading werewolf fanfic, and I know it’s not the same as the real thing. And some of it is probably false, but I was just trying to get a feel for it,” Stiles says sheepishly, scratching at his ear when Derek looks at him again.

“Fanfiction? Is—is that that knotting thing I saw you reading?” Derek questions, “Sorry, I’m not trying to make fun of you or anything. I’m just confused as to where you’re getting your information.”

“Ah,” Stiles blushes, fidgeting in his seat as he tries to go about finding a way to describe some of the other readings he likes to enjoy. “Yeah it’s fanfiction. Um, it’s pretty good, I enjoy it, but it might not be something you like. But I thought, you know let’s give it a read and see if I can learn anything. Sorry, I should have just asked you—“

“Stiles, it’s fine. I promise. I’m glad you tried to do some research on werewolf stuff, but next time at least ask Peter or me,” Derek kisses the soft buzzcut of Stiles’ hair, “You’re so cute when you get nervous.”

“Shut up. Ugh, I don’t know why I like you,” Stiles hides his face against Derek’s throat.

"You seem to have a whole list for why," Derek teases as he wraps an arm around Stiles' waist.

"Jerk," Stiles mutters against Derek's throat, and Derek can't stop the shiver going through him at the feel of Stiles' lips against his throat or his warm breath. "It was right about the knotting though."

Derek closes his eyes tightly, reminding himself that he still has the rest of the questionnaire to read, and he agrees they should finish reading it before doing anything as they'll be more aware of the other's limits.

"Do—do you want to be knotted?" Derek asks, his voice lowering and going slightly rough, and he feels the shudder go through Stiles as the younger teen presses closer against him.

"I'd need to work up to it," Stiles says against Derek's throat, and Derek clutches at Stiles' waist. "But, one day, I'd like to try it. I'd like to feel you knot me."

The groan that escapes Derek is guttural, and Derek presses his nose against Stiles' hair as he breathes in the arousal ripening Stiles' scent.

"You like the thought of that, big guy?" Stiles' lips brush against Derek's throat in a fleeting kiss. "Does that mean you'll be topping when we decide we're ready for penetrative sex?"

Derek freezes slightly, remembering the thoughts he's already have, and he worries about losing control of himself, of hurting Stiles, and then he swallows as he remembers his _other_ thoughts, of having Stiles fuck _him_ , and he hesitates for a moment longer before speaking in a low and somewhat self-conscious voice.

"I-I was actually thinking about you fucking me when we get to that stage," Derek admits with some shame, his cheeks burning with the force of his blush, and he feels Stiles shudder against him.

Derek feels almost sick with nerves as he waits impatiently for Stiles' reaction.

He hates that some part of him still feels shame at the idea of having Stiles' fucking him, and he hates the little voice in the back of his head that calls him a faggot for wanting it.

“Really?! Oh, fuck yeah,” Stiles bounces with excitement, “I would love if we liked switched it up. I don’t want to keep to just one of us doing the fucking and the other being the only one who bottoms.”

“You...you’d be okay with it?” Derek feels a bit of giddy when Stiles gives him a nod.

“Yeah man, I like being able to switch it up,” Stiles’ kisses Derek’s throat again. “Now quit distracting me, I need to finish reading through this. I just want to know if you have any weird kinks.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know what kind of freak in the sheets you are. Like I know you’re into biting and stuff, and some spanking—which in my opinion is pretty hot,” Stiles winks, “I’ve seen my fair share of kinky porn.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Mmmh, yeah, that’s the hot stuff.”

Derek snorts as he watches Stiles, "And what kinky porn have you been watching?"

Stiles flushes deeply, clearing his throat as he averts his eyes, "You know, the usual."

"Like?" Derek raises his eyebrows, curious by the embarrassment coming off Stiles when he's been pretty shameless so far.

"You know, guys in leather, spanking and other impact play sort of things," Stiles tries to sound off handed as he speaks, like he's not at all bothered about talking about the kink shit he's watched and got off on. "And other things, the usual things, really."

"I've never watched porn," Derek admits, and Stiles looks at him in disbelief, and Derek just shrugs. "Never felt the need to watch it."

Derek may have been curious when he had been young, but then Kate happened, and Derek stayed away from anything to do with sex until his first client at sixteen when sex became his second career.

Sex hasn't been something Derek has enjoyed or looked forward to, or even _want_ until Stiles, and he doesn't know if he wants to try to explain that to Stiles.

Stiles knows he's had sex with men before, and if Derek admits that he hasn't wanted to have sex until Stiles then he'll logically ask about the men he's been with in the past, and Derek can't see a way to explain anything without outing himself as a whore—ex-whore now, Derek supposes.

And _that's_ something that he doesn't want Stiles to _ever_ know. Derek doesn't want Stiles to know how used and dirty he really is, how much Derek doesn't deserve him, and how _ruined_ Derek really is deep down.

He also doesn't want his mom to know, he doesn't want Peter to _ever_ know what Derek did in New York as a second job because he doesn't think he'd be able to look his mom in the eyes without knowing he must feel so disappointed and disgusted with Derek as his son, with a whore as his son.

"So, when I say the usual stuff," Stiles says, still in disbelief.

"I have no idea what you mean," Derek admits with a shrug.

“Huh. Guess I’ll have to bring you up to speed when I get the chance,” Stiles winks, turning his attention back to the papers in his hands.

Sighing, Derek does the same.

When he finishes reading over the rest of the pages and Stiles’ likes and dislikes, as well as kinks, Derek leans over so he can set the papers on his night stand before settling back against the headboard.

He watches as Stiles’ reads his last page. Derek enjoys watching Stiles’ face as it runs through a difference of emotions; the look of peaking interest, blushing and the way he moves his fingers around because he can’t sit still.

It’s all so...cute.

“You have a lot of notes,” Stiles comments.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Nope!” Stiles sets the papers on his nightstand as well before moving over so he can sit on Derek’s lap. “Is this okay? Cause like, I really want to kiss you after reading all of that.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Perfect even,” Derek wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, humming when those soft lips press up against his own.

The knot of tension caused by unwanted thoughts disappears as Derek kisses Stiles, one arm wrapped around Stiles' waist to keep him close and his hand creeping under Stiles' t-shirt to press against Stiles' warm skin, spreading possessive between Stiles' narrow shoulder-blades, and Stiles keeps one hand on Derek's shoulder while the other cups the other teen's bearded cheek.

The kiss is almost lazy, the heat in Derek's stomach is gentle and not burning with overwhelming need as they kiss.

"I missed you," Stiles barely pulls back to sigh out those words, lips already seeking out Derek's before the werewolf can admit that he missed Stiles too.

Instead Derek tries to pull Stiles closer, tries to push in the emotion into their kiss, the silent sentiment that Derek missed Stiles too.

Derek wants to keep the kiss going for as long as possible, to enjoy this almost lazy warmth and contentment, but the moon is still up, still tugging at his blood, and Derek _needs_ more.

Derek's hand on Stiles' back slides down to grab his mate's ass as the arm once wrapped around Stiles' waist moves, and the hand curls around the back of Stiles' neck, and Derek deepens the kiss, swallowing Stiles' gasp as he squeezes at Stiles' ass.

"Derek?" Stiles questions against his mouth, the sound of his name muffled as Derek loathes parting from Stiles' mouth, and the rising arousal in the air makes Derek shudder.

"I-I _need_ ," Derek stutters slightly, groaning as Stiles' hand slips from his cheek to tugging his hair. "The moon— _ah._ "

Stiles bites down on Derek's neck, and Derek can't help the way he moans while his hips rock up, pushing his hard cock against Stiles' ass.

"You need more?" Stiles asks against his throat, a nip causing Derek's breathing to hitch. "Need to cum? Is that it?"

Derek's cheeks flush, embarrassed despite himself as his hips keep pressing up, seeking some relief.

"What do you want, Der? Want to fuck against me? Want me to fuck against you? Something else?"

“Um-uh—fuck,” Derek whines, unable to focus on a single thought that goes through his mind as he tries to answer Stiles’ question. “What do you want? Hhaaa— _fuck,_ Stiles.”

“You want me to decide for you, Der? Are you sure?” Stiles runs his hand down Derek’s bare chest.

“Yes,” Derek shifts his hips up a little, groaning when his cock rubs up against Stiles’ ass. “Anything you want Stiles.”

“Okay,” Stiles strokes Derek’s collarbone with such a soft touch it has Derek shivering. “I want—can we just kiss for a little more while I decide?”

Swallowing, Derek nods his head and pulls himself back a little, so he doesn’t scare off his mate.

Stiles takes his time enjoying the way Derek’s lips feel against his own, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through Derek’s hair, resting on the back of his neck so he can toy with the little hairs on Derek’s neck.

Stiles smiles when Derek gives a little shiver from the soft touch, a chuckle escaping the older teen’s mouth when Stiles keeps touching him.

“Tease,” Derek jokes.

“You love it,” Stiles snips back, leaning forward to kiss the base of Derek’s throat, moving down until his lips are touching Derek’s collarbone.

Derek doesn't say anything, _can't_ say anything in his defence as it's true.

He loves Stiles touching him, kissing him, caressing him, making his cock twitch and leak in his boxers.

Derek's head drops back as Stiles' nips at his collarbone, Derek's hands falling and flexing as they grip hold of Stiles' ass as the younger teen bites and kiss along Derek's collarbones.

Stiles thinks he can understand Lydia a bit better in this moment, how she could get off over the power she has over Jackson as Stiles doesn't think there's _anything_ in the world more arousing than having your werewolf boyfriend under you, desperate for every touch, and so damn horny that his hips keep moving, seeking relief as he gives up all control to _Stiles_.

 _Fuck_ , the fact that Stiles hasn't around cummed in his boxers is a miracle, especially considering the little needy whine that underlined Derek's words that it's anything that _Stiles_ wants.

Stiles is a teenage boy with a very respectable porn collection, and a mind that wanders and imagines _all_ sorts of things to do to his horny werewolf, but it's so damn hard—pun not intended, but very much _felt_ —to choose one thing.

Stiles almost stills, pauses in his attempts to make his bite-mark bruise just above Derek's collar stay for more than a damn second as something very important occurs to him.

Derek's a werewolf, Derek's a werewolf with little to no refractory period, Derek's a _very_ horny werewolf at the moment.

 _I don't have to choose just one thing_ , Stiles realises with a hint of a shiver as the heat in his stomach seems to grow. _I can choose several things as see which one Derek really likes._

" _Stiles_ ," Derek rasps, _begs_ , and Stiles' dick twitches at the sheer _need_ in Derek's voice. " _Please_."

"I'm thinking," Stiles bites at Derek's neck, the sound coming from the older teen guttural as Derek arches his neck further against Stiles' mouth.

 _So many choices, so little time_ , Stiles almost mourns.

“I want to try this thing...uh, with your nipples. If that’s okay?” Stiles blushes, ducking his head a little when Derek gives him a confused look.

“Sure. Do you want my lying down?”

Nodding his head, Stiles says, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Derek shifts, pushing Stiles off of him a little so that he can lay back in the bed. Throwing an arm over his head so he can watch comfortably as Stiles peels off his shirt, and then removed his sweatpants. The teenager keeps his boxers on, blushing when he settles back down on Derek’s hips.

“If this gets uncomfortable just tell me,” Stiles smiles, before moving a hand down to pinch one of Derek’s nipples.

Derek grunts slightly at the pleasurable pain as Stiles watches his face.

"Is it okay?" Stiles asks him, and Derek nods as he tucks his arm firmly under his head while resting his second hand almost protectively over his stomach.

"Fine," Derek says as it seems Stiles wants some verbal feedback, and Stiles nods almost to himself before leaning down towards his chest.

Derek groans as Stiles' hot mouth wraps around his nipple, his hand turning into a fist on his stomach as Stiles sucks and grazes the tight nub with his teeth for a while before pulling back, and he blows on the wet and tight nipple, savouring the way Derek shudders with a gasp.

Stiles takes the wet nipple between his fingers, rolling it and thumbing over it as Derek grunts and groans underneath him, chest arching slightly underneath Stiles touch, and Stiles bites his lip to contain his smile as he glances down to the telling bugle and increasing wet spot appearing on the front of Derek's sweatpants.

Stiles leans across Derek, lapping slightly at the neglected nipple before firmly encasing it with his mouth to Derek's louder moan as Stiles suckles and grazes his teeth against the nipple, tugging on it slightly in a way that makes Derek gasp and arch while continuing to play with the first nipple.

Stiles has always been curious and well, very aroused, by watching videos of men making themselves cum just by playing with their nipples, and having the chance to see if he could make Derek do the same? Well, no one could truly blame him.

And it's not like Stiles isn't enjoying hearing Derek groan and grunt, his hips shifting upwards uselessly as Stiles switched up which nipple got his mouth, and which got his hand.

Derek groans as he resists the urge to slide his second hand down to give his cock something to rock against as Stiles plays and sucks on his nipples.

Derek didn't realise his nipples were so sensitive, but every suck and pinch seems to go straight to his cock, making it throb and leak in his boxers.

Stiles moves his leg, so it’s settled between Derek’s legs, the older man whining when he rocks his hips upwards and rubs up against Stiles’ thigh.

It has him cursing as he tries to rut harder against Stiles’ thigh, wanting that little jolt of pleasure it gives him while Stiles sucks on his nipples.

Teeth graze against the harden nub, and then Stiles tests how Derek will react when he bites the wet skin.

“Fuck—Fuck, _Stiles_ ,” Derek moans, his hips jerking erratically as he starts to loose himself in the sensation.

“So good for me, Der. Are you going to cum? You gonna mess up your underwear by coming?” Stiles reaches down to squeeze Derek’s erection, smirking when the man whines pitifully. “Or do you wanna cum on my thigh? Make sure to Mark me with your cum so everyone knows who I belong to, huh big guy?”

“Yes, yesss. Fuck, please Stiles,” Derek groans, his voice shaking a little.

“Mmmm, so good, baby.”

" _Stiles_ ," Derek groans, rubbing himself desperately against Stiles' thigh, rutting like a horny puppy in a way that would make him feel embarrassed or ashamed if he hadn't been so _close_.

"You can pull them down, pull them down and Mark me with your cum," Stiles tells him, his voice rough and lower with arouse, and making Derek's cock throb as Derek almost frantically pushes down his sweatpants and underwear, barely getting them down his thighs when Stiles _bites_ down on one of Derek's nipples and Derek whines as he cums, getting it over Stiles' thigh as well as Derek's underwear and sweatpants.

Stiles pulls back to look at him as Derek lies there panting for a moment, Stiles' black pupils blown wide with want and only a thin ring of amber left as Stiles gazes down at him.

Stiles licks his lips as Derek stares up at him with wolf electric-blue eyes, his mouth open as he takes ragged pants of air, his tanned skin blushing with pleasure, his chest heaving and his nipples swollen, red and wet from Stiles' abuse on them.

Stiles' gaze rakes down Derek and makes Derek shudder as he can almost feel the heat of them against his skin as Stiles' gaze drifts down Derek's heaving chest, following a drop of sweat as it rolls down to Derek's abs and then focuses on Derek's cock.

"Did you soften at _all_ when you came?" Stiles asks with some awe, reaching down and curling his hand around Derek's thick girth, and Derek whines as he thrusts into Stiles' grip, his own cum making Stiles' hand wet. "Do you want more?"

" _Need_ ," Derek corrects through gritted teeth, muffling a groan as he fucks up into Stiles' grip, his cock more sensitive due to just cumming though Derek can't help himself.

Derek had been told growing up that the full moon was different for mated couples, but he didn't realise it's because the moon affected mated couples differently, didn't realise the moon would heat his blood in a different way, or that it would affect him _so_ much.

Stiles hums, pleased with how hard Derek is in his hands. The man shivers and stretches into the touch before being pushed back down against the sheets by Stiles’ hands.

“Hey, can I try giving you a blow job?” Stiles asks.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re going to kill me,” Derek can feel his claws come out and shred the sheets a bit, and he has to remind himself to get some new sheets later because his are going to be ruined. Again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Stiles smirks, pulling Derek’s pants off the rest of the way before settling down between the man’s legs, only to stop when Derek puts a hand on his head.

“Just—be careful. Don’t use your teeth, and _do not_ swallow more than you can handle. I don’t want you to choke,” Derek tells him seriously.

“I won’t. I’ll be good, I promise,” turning his head, Stiles presses a kiss to the inside of Derek thigh.

Derek lets out a deep breath through his nose, reminding himself to let Stiles take his time and get used to it, and _not_ just thrust up into Stiles' mouth, no matter how good it feels.

Derek has been on the other end of this kind of thing a _lot_ , and he knows how much it hurts for someone to just grab your head and fuck your throat without mercy, not caring if you choke or not, and sometimes taking delight in the tears of pain you can't help but shed.

Derek isn't going to do that to Stiles, Derek refuses to hurt Stiles due to his eagerness to cum, and he'll stay still to allow Stiles test out things, to learn.

Stiles presses another kiss to Derek's thigh, moving up to where the thigh joins to the hip, and feeling Derek's muscles tremble under his lips.

Stiles doesn't know if it's because it feels good, if Derek's actually ticklish there, or it's because Derek is holding himself back, but it still makes a thrill go through him to have someone so obviously powerful tremble under his touch.

Stiles presses on last kiss to Derek's hipbone before looking at where Derek's dick is lying against his stomach, still hard and still somewhat wet from cumming just a moment ago.

Stiles curls his hand around near the base to raise it up, pausing as he feels a difference to what he feels when he touches himself, and realises that's probably where Derek's knot grows. Stiles strokes his thumb against the area, and the moan that escapes Derek is the loudest yet.

"This is where your knot grows, isn't it?" Stiles asks a bit breathlessly, still trying to come to terms with the idea of Derek's dick getting thicker due to the knot.

"Yes," Derek almost hisses as Stiles starts to mouth against _that_ area, the pleasure causing his toes to curl, and his hands to flex against the sheets under him, claws threatening to shred through the thin material as stars seems to burst in front of his eyes as they roll slightly back in his head. " _Fuck_."

Pulling his head back, Stiles asks, “Does that feel good?”

He doesn’t give Derek a moment to answer as he dives back in to start sucking and kissing around that area.

Derek makes the most pitiful noises he’s ever heard himself make.

“It feels amazing— _fffuck!_ ” he howls when Stiles wraps those cupid-bowed lips around the head of Derek’s cock, happily sucking on it while the man writhes beneath him.

Stiles makes a noise of delight when he gets his first taste of Derek’s cum on his tongue.

 _No wonder guys in porn like drinking this_ , Stiles thinks to himself, knowing if he was given the chance he’d happily drink Derek’s cum every morning.

“ _Stil-ah!_ ” Derek digs his claws into the sheets, feeling Stiles’ tongue lick the top of his head and those long, dexterous fingers squeeze at the base of his cock.

Derek covers his mouth with one hand when he feels the urge to scream as Stiles gets about half way down on his cock.

Derek's legs tremble almost uncontrollably as he holds himself back from thrusting, and Derek bites at his hand as he feels Stiles hum around him, getting an additional inch of Derek's in his mouth and throat before he has to pull back.

Stiles knows he's drooling slightly, turns out it's hard to swallow down spit when there's a dick in your mouth, but Stiles doesn't care, can't care right now.

He sucks on the head of Derek's cock for a bit, curling his tongue around it before dipping it into Derek's slit, tasting some of Derek's pre-cum as he does before trying to remember all he's seen and read about blowjobs and how it differs when guys have a foreskin.

 _Licks, licks are good_ , Stiles remembers through the haze of Derek's taste and smell, of Derek trembling underneath him, and Derek making those goddamn _noises_ that makes Stiles want to hump the bed as each sound seems to go straight to his dick, his dick that has to be leaking pre-cum through his boxers by now.

Stiles licks and wraps his tongue around the head of Derek's cock, his hand squeezing and stroking where Derek's knot is definitely expanding slightly under Stiles' touch, and then he decides to change it up, hand going to curl around the head of Derek's cock, stroking and rubbing it, thumbing under the head as Stiles kisses, licks and sucks slightly at the growing knot.

Derek slams his head back against the bed, biting down hard on his hand while fisting at the sheets with his other hand, and the sound that escapes him is one he's never heard before as Stiles _worships_ his knot with his mouth.

Derek hadn't even _meant_ to let his knot grow, but he couldn't stop it as Stiles kept stimulating the area, and for the first time in _years_ , Derek thinks his knot is going to expand to its full size.

Derek whimpers, the noise muffled by his hand, as he _knows_ that Stiles will play with his knot curiously, never mind that Derek's knot is extremely sensitive.

“You’re really big,” Stiles comments, not even noticing the struggle Derek is going through. “God, and that’s supposed to go inside my ass? That’s hot.”

“ _St-Stiles!_ ” Derek groans through his fangs.

“Does it gets bigger? If so, we’re gonna need more lube,” Stiles pauses, giving Derek’s knot another squeeze. “And maybe some more fingers. Like four? Five? Six if it’s any bigger than my fist.”

The imagery of _fisting_ Stiles has Derek shouting, his knot growing bigger in Stiles’ fist as he cums all over his mate’s face. Cursing when his vision goes white, Derek shakes and shivers while Stiles keeps a firm hold on his knot.

“Woah,” Stiles moans, keeping his eyes closed as Derek cums everywhere.

Feeling adventurous, Stiles leans forward to wrap his mouth around Derek’s cock, moaning when his mouth is filled with the werewolf’s cum.

Derek's eyes roll back slightly as he feels Stiles' hot and wet mouth wrap around the head of his cock, and Stiles _hasn't_ let go of his knot, his hand still wrapped around it as much as possible, and Derek lets out a strangled whine as Stiles squeezes it.

It takes _everything_ in Derek not to thrust up into Stiles' mouth as he feels the younger teen swallow as Derek keeps cumming with the squeezing of his knot, and Derek actually tastes blood due to him biting his hand to help hold onto _some_ control.

Stiles pulls back with a slight choke, Derek's cum filling his mouth faster than he can swallow, and he feels another hot load hit his lips and chin as he keeps absently squeezing Derek's knot, hearing Derek thrash his head against the bed.

Muffled whines and choked shouts are all the sounds that Derek can make, he can't stop biting his hand, his jaw locked up tight as everything in him seems to narrow to Stiles' hand around his knot, and Derek arches with muffled howl as he feels Stiles' lips against his knot.

The knot is hard, unrelenting to Stiles' mouth and tongue, and _hot_ as it pulses as Derek continues to cum, and Stiles has the thought that when they did get around to Derek knotting him, that it is a good thing they will be using condoms—do werewolves have condoms designed with knotting in mind? Because otherwise? There will be _no_ knotting as Stiles doesn't want to find out that Sparks can get pregnant like born male werewolves can at this age—or otherwise Stiles is going to look pregnant due to the amount of cum Derek can produce as the werewolf hasn't yet stopped cumming.

There's a hand around most of his knot, lips and a tongue worshipping the bits that the hand doesn't cover, and Derek's vision has long ago turned white, his toes curling, one clawed hand ripping through the sheets like tissue, and Derek's barely able to stop from biting clean through his hand as the pleasure _doesn't_ stop, just keeps going on and _on_ endlessly.

“I can’t believe how big this thing gets,” Stiles smirks, looking up at his boyfriend who looks like he’s about to pass out. “You okay, big guy?”

Derek can’t even form words at the moment, instead he nods his head and lifts his hips as Stiles gives his knot a squeeze.

“God, I wish you could see how you look right now. You’re so beautiful, Der,” Stiles gives another squeeze, watching with rapt attention as Derek’s cock twitches and cums a little.

Groaning as if he’s in pain, Derek says, “ _Stiles, please_.”

“You’re so pretty,” Stiles gushes, kissing up the inside of Derek’s thigh as he watches his boyfriend squirm under his hand.

Derek doesn't know if he's begging for more or for Stiles to stop, it feels like it took everything in him just to say those two words after _finally_ unlocking his teeth from his hand.

Derek knows he's probably smeared some of his blood on the already torn and cum-stained sheets, completely ruining them.

He can feel Stiles' lips kissing up his thigh, the wetness from his own cum on Stiles' face, and he shudders, wanting to be able to see the mess he's made of his mate's face, but unable to muster the strength to open his eyes and move.

The lack of sight somehow enhances each touch even _more_ , something he would have thought impossible before this.

Derek gasps as he feels Stiles kiss at his balls, still pulled tight from his recent cumming and still able to cum more whenever Stiles' squeezes his hand, pulling pitiful bits of cum from Derek's sensitive cock.

Derek has never felt this good before, hadn't even suspected that sex could be this good, and part of him hopes this never ends.

" _Stiles_ ," Derek rasps as he sluggishly reaches out for his mate, needing to feel him more, and Stiles shifts, moves, and Derek gives a sigh of relief as Stiles settles onto him, lying against him, and wet lips press against his.

Derek groans as he opens his mouth immediately for Stiles, tasting blood and cum, and _Stiles_ , and gathering enough strength to rest his hand on Stiles' hip, slipping a few of his fingers into Stiles' boxers.

Derek can feel Stiles' erection, can feel how he's been leaking pre-cum, and he groans again into the kiss.

"Have you had enough yet?" Stiles asks breathless, pulling back, and Derek is immediately mouthing at his jaw, licking up his own cum in a way that makes Stiles groan, and grind against Derek's completely fucked out body.

“I could never get enough of you,” Derek says, not caring how cheesy it all sounds.

“Same here,” Stiles agrees, turning his head so he can kiss against Derek’s lips.

“Do you want me to take care of this for you?” Derek squeezes Stiles’ straining erection.

Blushing, Stiles ducks his head and takes a moment to breath, grinding his erection against Derek’s large, warm hand that’s covering his erection and groaning when the man gives him another squeeze.

Nodding his head, Stiles gives a soft, “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anything you want, baby, I’ll take care of you. I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Derek kisses and sucks his way up Stiles’ throat, hoping that it’ll bruise a little bit more, so Stiles will be walking around with his mark.

“Der— _oh!_ ” Stiles jolts when Derek yanks his boxers down his thigh and gives his cock another squeeze.

Derek doesn't know where the strength comes from, not when he feels so fucked out and weak, but he finds it somewhere to roll them over, and Stiles doesn't fight him, just goes with it and ends up underneath Derek.

Derek doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing Stiles like this; only a thin ring of amber-brown visible around the wide expanse of black, red lips swollen and wet, neck covered in bruises, in _Derek's_ marks, and smelling of sex and Derek's cum.

Derek growls as he leans down and nips at Stiles' throat, the human bearing his throat with no fear despite Derek's fangs and eyes glowing electric-blue, and Derek gives Stiles another, almost approving, little nip before kissing down Stiles' neck and chest, forcing back his fangs as he kisses his way lower and lower.

" _Fuck_ ," Stiles closes his eyes tightly, hoping not to blow his load as he realises exactly what Derek's planning to do to him, strong hands pinning his hips down against the bed, and Stiles accidentally lets out a shout Derek's surprisingly soft lips press against the tip of his dick.

Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth, resisting the urge to grab Derek's hair, and mentally shouts at his dick to not betray him before he gets to enjoy Derek's mouth on his dick.

Derek flicks his tongue out to lick at Stiles' slit, tasting the pre-cum with a rumbling growl that makes Stiles give a muffled loud moan, before taking the whole of the head of Stiles' cock into his mouth.

Stiles isn't thick like Derek, the girth he does have won't strain Derek's jaw, and means he can go as long as possible without worrying about his jaw seizing up.

However, Stiles is _long_ , the longest he's ever had to deal with, and Derek suspects he'll have to be more careful if he decides to deep-throat Stiles, though he suspects that Stiles won't last long enough for him to try as Derek can already feel the tremble in Stiles' legs and hips as Derek focuses on the head of Stiles' cock.

_"Ohmygodohmygod—Derek!"_

Grinning as he hears his mate’s enjoyment of this, Derek slurps up the bit of precum leaking out of Stiles’ cock before taking more of his mate’s cock into his mouth.

Stiles groans and reaches down to grab a handful of Derek’s hair, when he realizes he was tugging on it Stiles moves to take his hand off. But then Derek is grabbing it and putting it back in his hair.

“I like it when you tug my hair,” is The only thing Derek says before going back down to take a mouthful of his mate’s cock.

 _“Fuuuuuck...”_ Stiles feels his head tip backwards when Derek bobs his head up and down.

Moaning when Stiles’ cock hits the back of his throat, Derek takes a deep breath before swallowing more and more until he gets to the base.

The sound that Stiles makes can only be a whine as he tightens his grip of Derek's hair, and Stiles grinds his head back against the bed as he tries not to cum.

Derek pulls back up sooner than he liked to, but he had been right, he _could_ deep-throat Stiles if he's careful and slow in taking every inch, and while he'd have love to listened to Stiles' reactions to Derek swallowing around all of him and humming, he knows that Stiles has been on edge for a while, and Derek doesn't want to choke—especially not after warning Stiles about it.

Derek frees one hand from Stiles' hips, knowing he can keep the human pinned with one hand easily, and wraps it around the slick base of Stiles' cock.

Stiles whimpers, high and almost strangled in his throat, as Derek's mouth and hand works his dick, and Stiles digs his heels into the bed as he tries to hold onto his control.

But it's no use, Stiles had been on edge for too long, and Derek is unfairly good with his mouth and hand, and Stiles tries to sob out a warning just before his balls tighten and he cums.

Derek swallows without hesitation, the sensation of it making Stiles whine as he tugs on Derek's hair while his back arches.

Stiles slumps back against the bed when he finishes cumming, whimpering as Derek sucks and licks his sensitive dick clean thoroughly.

Derek finally pulls back with one last kiss to the head of Stiles' cock before crawling up, and caging Stiles against the bed.

"You're amazing," Stiles rasps, his voice husky, and he curls his arms around Derek's neck, tugging weakly until his werewolf boyfriend carefully covers his body with his bigger, hotter, and more muscular frame. "Ten out of Ten, would love to recommend, but you're mine."

Derek snorts at his ridiculous mate as he nuzzles at the side of Stiles' face, leaning most of his weight on his arms so not to crush Stiles.

"Oh _my_ god, how are you still hard?" Stiles demands as he feels Derek's erection against his thigh.

“Werewolf thing,” Derek puts it off to, hoping it doesn’t bother Stiles much.

“Man, I’m gonna have to work on my stamina if I’m going to keep up with you,” Stiles comments, slumping against Derek’s body in exhaustion.

“You don’t have to, baby,” Derek rests a hand against Stiles’ hip and rubs at his skin with his thumb.

“Mmmm, but I want to. I like having sex with you and fooling around. I don’t wanna just cum and be done, that’s lame.”

Derek chuckles, “It’s not lame, baby.”

"It's lame to me," Stiles says with a pout as he tilts his head up hopefully, and Derek ducks his head down to kiss him, a lazy kiss with no plans to deepen it or make it hungry despite the erection Stiles can feel against his thigh. "How many times can you cum in one night?"

"I don't know," Derek shrugs idly, not bothered by not knowing, and then shifts them until Derek's flat on his back and Stiles is lying on top of him, and Derek tucks an arm behind his head while wrapping his other securely around Stiles.

"And that doesn't bother you?" Stiles asks in disbelief as he props himself up on Derek's chest to look down at Derek's face.

Derek's eyes are closed, his expression relaxed despite his erection, and he just hums with no concern.

"The full moon made you hornier, does that mean that you'd cum more on a full moon than otherwise?" Stiles asks as Derek strokes his hand up and down Stiles' back, his hand wandering further down to stroke against Stiles' ass in a way that makes Stiles' dick attempt to stir back into readiness.

"I don't know," Derek tells Stiles simply. "I've never had sex on a full moon before."

Derek waits for the next question, enjoying the ability to touch Stiles, and only cracks one eye open when Stiles is silent, and he can feel Stiles' gaze on his face.

"I took your moon virginity?" Stiles asks when he sees a sliver of electric-blue looking up at him, and both eyes fly open in shock and disbelief, turning that unique blue-green-brown that's unique only to Derek.

"What?" Derek asks in disbelief.

“Your moon virginity. You know since you haven’t had sex on the full moon,” Stiles grins, even though Derek’s still staring at him with this look of confusion.

“Stiles, that’s not a thing,” Derek tells his boyfriend.

“Well, it is now. I made it up so it’s totally a thing,” Stiles corrects.

“Just because you made it up, doesn’t mean it’s a real thing. I—“

Stiles puts a finger over Derek’s mouth, and shushes him, “No slander in our den. What I say, goes. I’m the Alpha.”

He gives a mockery of a growl that has Derek laughing.

“What?” Derek can’t stop smiling as he asks the question.

“Rrrr, I’m the big, scary Alpha. I’ll protect my mate,” Stiles bites the soft skin of Derek’s chest which has the werewolf laughing even more.

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek tells him, smirking when Stiles gives another growl and bites him again, wrapping one arm around his mate, Derek rolls them over until he’s on top. “No, _I’m the Alpha_.”

“No way!” Stiles grabs Derek’s shoulder and throws the werewolf back down on the bed, starting a wrestling match between the two of them.

Stiles knows that Derek's letting him win as in actually have a chance to fight back since Derek's a _werewolf_ , and _lot_ stronger than Stiles is.

Derek and Stiles roll over the bed, Derek making sure they don't roll off the bed, and Stiles still making those little growls that makes Derek laugh.

It's a playful moment, nothing truly sexual about it despite them both being naked and covered in cum, but it'd only take a single thing to turn into something else.

Later, Derek will think of course it would be Stiles that did something, but in that moment, Derek's having too much fun allowing his mate to pin him long enough for Stiles to grin at him with victory before Derek would flip them over with ease.

Stiles grin in triumphant down at Derek, breathless and unable to stop grinning, and before Derek flips them _again_ , Stiles bends down and bites on the left side of Derek's neck playfully.

It's like a flip has been switched in Derek's mind as he slumps down against the bed, arching his neck with a whine, his hips twitching up and grinding his erection against Stiles.

" _Stiles_ ," Derek whines breathlessly, bearing himself submissively for his mate.

“Woah. Uh,” Stiles pulls back, blushing when Derek rubs up against him. “Der?”

“Fuck—sorry, sorry. I didn’t—“ Derek brings a hand up to touch that area where Stiles bit him, his cheeks turning red at the sensation it brought him when those teeth pressed into his skin. “I’m fine. I just got ahead of myself a little bit.”

“You sure?” Stiles settles on top of Derek again, rubbing his hand up and down Derek’s chest while his boyfriend calms down.

“Yeah...you just bit a sensitive area that’s all, baby.”

However, that doesn’t stop Stiles from getting curious.

“Sensitive? What does that mean? Like did that make you hard, or did it hurt? You know you can’t keep me hanging on these things.”

Blushing, Derek turns his face as he tries to figure out how to describe what just happened to Stiles. His mate continues to pet and touch him which has his heart beat calming down.

“If you need some time to think we can take a shower if you want?”

Derek makes a face, not wanting to shower and get rid of the scent of them and sex, and he tries not to let himself pout.

"Really? We stink of sex, covered in cum, and the sheet is a mess," Stiles looks down at him in disbelief. "And you _still_ don't want to shower?"

Derek grumbles slightly, wordlessly, and Stiles shakes his head in disbelief.

"Come on, big guy, shower time," Stiles pats at Derek's chest before shifting off his boyfriend, and off the bed, trying not to trip over the mess of sweatpants, boxers and a lone t-shirt as Stiles makes his way to bathroom.

Derek sighs as he pushes himself up, stretching slightly before glancing at the cum-stained, blood smeared and clawed up sheet—Stiles _may_ have a point.

Derek's half-tempted to just throw the duvet over the mess, and just sleep under the blanket tonight though he doesn't know if Stiles would agree with his idea.

Derek decides to just leave it for now as he follows after Stiles, hearing the shower going, and wanting to be as close to Stiles as possible despite not knowing just how to explain what just happened to his mate.

He's still thinking it over while he steps into the shower, wrapping his arms around Stiles, and plastering his chest against Stiles' back. Derek sighs deeply as the hot water hits his skin, and he presses closer to Stiles' back, and Stiles strokes his arms absently.

"Still thinking?" Stiles asks without trying to push Derek, and Derek nods as he tucks his face against Stiles' neck, mouthing absently at Stiles' bruised throat.

Stiles chuckles as Derek’s soft lips tickle his neck, pressing his hand to Derek’s chest he pushes him backward so he can move around.

“Come on, Der, we need to wash,” Stiles grins, pouring shampoo into his hand before turning around so he can scrub it into Derek hair.

Derek groans at Stiles’ touch, finding it more relaxing than he finds it arousing. Grinning as Derek leans into the touch, shoulders slumping as Stiles scrubs the pads of his fingers into Derek’s scalp.

Derek wants to rest his head against Stiles' shoulder, but he thinks that'll hamper Stiles' efforts in washing his hair, so he contents himself with wrapping his arms around Stiles' waist.

Stiles smiles as he watches Derek's eyes flutter closed, his head tilting towards him as Stiles makes sure the shampoo is thoroughly worked through Derek's hair while massaging against Derek's scalp.

"Tilt your head back," Stiles encourages, and Derek grumbles slightly as he does as he's told, and Stiles washes out all the shampoo patiently.

The moment that Stiles gives him the all clear, Derek finally gives in and drops his head against Stiles' shoulder.

"You know it's going to be almost impossible to clean you like this, right?" Stiles says in an amused tone, resting a hand on Derek's hip while blindly reaching out for the shower-gel with his other hand.

"Comfy," Derek tells Stiles, and neglects to add that he doesn't really care if he's "clean" or not as he likes smelling the scent of them and sex, and the cum is probably been washed off by the water already.

"Cuddle-wolf," Stiles sing-songs with a smile, giving a mental cheer as he grabs the shower-gel, and he almost laughs when he finally gets his soapy hands on Derek, and Derek shudders, trying to get away without actually releasing Stiles at all. "Silly cuddle-wolf."

"Not a thing," Derek protests, nipping at Stiles' neck.

"Too late," Stiles informs him as he scrubs his hands up and down Derek's board and gloriously muscular back. "Still thinking, or can you tell me now?"

Derek is quiet for a moment, tightening his grip around Stiles, and then sighing as Stiles' hands move to rub up and down his sides.

"The neck is sensitive for wolves," Derek explains lowly, his lips near Stiles' ear, and taking some delight in Stiles' shiver. "We don't bare our throat lightly, to do that is a sign of trust, or submission to our Alpha, or both. We only truly trust a few at our throat: our Alpha and our mate normally."

“Oh...” Stiles runs his fingers over the soft skin of Derek’s throat, watching as the man gives a little shiver at the touch. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I trust you Stiles, I trust you with things I’ve never trusted someone else to know about me,” Derek takes Stiles’ hand in his own and presses a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand.

“That’s a lot of trust going into my skinny ass,” Stiles jokes.

“Mmmh, but I like your ass. It’s cute,” Derek reached behind to give Stiles’ ass a squeeze which has the teen blushing and ducking his head. “I was just startled earlier, and then um—my wolf wanted to submit to you.”

“I don’t see the problem with that.”

Cheeks growing flush, Derek further explains, “I wanted to show you how good of a mate I could be. I’ve been repressing that side a lot and when you bit my neck, I kind of lost control over it all.”

"You don't have to hide any part of you," Stiles tells him with a frown, not liking the thought that Derek is repressing part of himself.

"Werewolves are....intense with their mates," Derek tries to explain, tries to say why he'd been repressing that side of him.

Derek doesn't want to say how he'd be more clingy to Stiles, more needy for his touch and presence.

Derek doesn't want to scare Stiles off by saying how he's already in love with Stiles, it's already bad enough that Stiles _knows_ just how bad werewolves get without their mates.

Derek doesn't want to mention how his wolf would push further for Derek to submit fully, sexually, to Stiles, and how his wolf had no concept waiting to be ready for that step, doesn't understand why Derek isn't presenting himself to be _mounted_ and taken, doesn't understand why Derek would deny either of them a pup.

The wolf only sees Stiles, sees his mate that's unclaimed, his mate that's already proven he can be more dominate to him, and doesn't understand why they aren't submitting to Stiles, aren't being fucked and _bred_ by Stiles, and can only think they haven't proven themselves as both mate and future mother of Stiles' pups.

Something that makes it harder for Derek to control himself, to repress _everything_ that would freak Stiles out, would be too much for _any_ human to deal with so soon.

Derek had been _good_ , he had been trying his best to not be too needy or clingy, and then with the moon, and Stiles biting the _left_ side of his neck, the side where eventually Stiles will give Derek the Mating bite?

It had been too much, Derek hadn't been able to control himself, and he had submitted, had arched and bared his throat for his mate, had not cared about protecting his belly from his mate, and had shown that Derek was ready to be _taken._

And _of course_ , it had been too soon, _of course_ , it made Stiles pull back, just like Derek knew it would.

Soft lips pull Derek out of his own thoughts, he startles when Stiles kisses up his cheek.

“I like how intense you are. It matches how intense I am. Like, dude, you don’t realize how clingy or intense I can be at times. Ask Lydia, every time her birthday came around, I always got her way too many gifts,” Stiles comments, stroking Derek’s arm.

Derek holds back his own emotions at those words, he dislikes every time when Stiles brings up his past obsession with Lydia.

It makes that dark part inside of him growl with jealousy and want to snap it’s jaw at the red head. But he has to push it back, he’s not going to be a possessive asshole.

Besides, Lydia doesn’t like Stiles like that and never will.

Stiles chose Derek over her, Stiles loves him.

“Must have been fun,” Derek mutter a little darkly, but Stiles doesn’t seem to notice.

“It was embarrassing, and I feel awful for putting her on the spot all those times.”

Derek frowns slightly, still not happy with the mention of Lydia in this context.

"Dude, you have no idea the amount of gifts I'd have already drowned you in if you know, I hadn't been distracted with magic, Jackson, Scott, and the whole drama with Peter and Chris," Stiles says as he moves to wash Derek's chest, enjoying running his fingers through Derek's chest hair, and then frowns thoughtfully. "Though I think some of the drama has calmed down, I will need to get a job to be able to afford all the gifts I'll want to give you."

Derek bites back his first response at the idea of Stiles getting a job, which is a loud and firm "No!" as it's already bad enough that Stiles spends hours a day at school, and thus away from Derek, that he absolutely _hates_ the idea of Stiles having a job and spending _more_ time away from Derek.

Sure, soon enough Derek will have his own classes to distract himself from Stiles' absence, and he's been doing well with his exercising while Stiles at school, and no doubt, he could distract himself with Stiles' craft gift when he's not exercising or at one of his appointments with Noshiko.

But that doesn't change the fact that Derek doesn't send enough time with Stiles as it is, not enough for that needy and clingy part of Derek that just wants to hoard Stiles to himself, and he really hates the thought of a job taking more of Stiles' time and attention away from Derek.

Derek takes a deep breath, and tries to sound more reasonable as he finally responds to Stiles' unthinkable suggestion of Stiles getting a job.

"You don't need to do that," Derek is proud of himself for sounding so reasonable and calm. "I don't need a lot of gifts, I'm just happy with spending time with you."

"But I want to give you gifts," Stiles frowns up at him. "It'd make me happy to give you gifts."

“I know, but I just want you to know that even if you stopped giving me gifts I’d still be with you. You don’t have to make me anything special, or get me anything. I’m not with you because of gifts, or magic. I like you, a lot, Stiles,” Derek makes sure to drive the point into Stiles’ brain.

“I know, I know. But I’m still going to spoil you,” Stiles gives Derek’s bicep a squeeze, momentarily getting distracted by how thick his boyfriends muscles are.

“Okay, but just try not to spend too much.”

 _I’m not worth as much as you think I am_ , Derek thinks to himself, before turning around to grab the shampoo bottle so he can wash Stiles’ hair.

“Is it weird that I really like how hairy you’ve gotten in the past few days? Like, this is not me telling you, you have to stay hairy. But damn I really like it,” Stiles rubs his thumb against Derek’s chest, fingers getting tangled in the man’s thick hair, he rubs his thumb over one of Derek’s nipples, which get a grunt from the older teen and have Stiles smirking.

“I can tell. You always smell like arousal when I take my shirt off,” Derek grins when Stiles’ smirk drops, and a blush covers his face.

"Oh my god," Stiles groans, dropping his head against Derek's shoulder, and hiding his red face from his boyfriend. "I really can hide nothing from you, can I?"

"No," Derek says, amused, as he begins to wash Stiles' hair, noting that he still hasn't gotten round to buzzing it down yet, and still not knowing if he should ask if Stiles is thinking about growing it out.

Derek firmly stops his thoughts before they go into the direction of holding onto Stiles' longer hair as the younger teen sucks at his cock again.

Stiles hums as he leans his head back while Derek washes his hair, feeling the drag of Derek's blunt nails against his scalp, and he closes his eyes as he enjoys the feel of it while his hands slip down and curl around Derek's hips.

Derek shivers slightly, wanting to press forward against Stiles as the hands on his hips reminds him of what they had been doing not so long again, and he has to hold himself back by focusing washing Stiles' short hair.

“Man, we still need to change the sheets before we can sleep,” Stiles comments, his thumb rubbing up and down the v of Derek’s hip.

“Sorry.”

“Nah, dude, it’s really hot that you went all wolfy and started tearing up the sheets. Like damn, real porn has nothing on having sex with a werewolf.”

Derek totally doesn’t preen understand those words, maybe gets a little smug, but nothing else.

Definitely doesn’t preen over the fact Stiles finds him wolfing out _sexy_.

Derek had never considered wolfing out during sex as sexy, if anything, Derek always thought he'd look like a monster and disgust his partner if he actually had sex with someone because _he_ wanted to, and lost control of himself.

But Stiles never shied away from Derek when he shifted, and when Stiles said he thought it's really hot, he wasn't lying about that.

No, Derek thinks to himself as he remembers, Stiles only got more aroused by Derek losing control of his wolf.

Derek nudges Stiles to tilt his head back, washing out the shampoo, and just enjoying the way Stiles is absently touching him.

"We could just throw the duvet over it, and sleep under the blanket," Derek suggests as he finishes rinsing out the shampoo, and Stiles looks slightly tempted by the idea before sighing.

"No, we should just do it properly," Stiles says as he reaches out for the shower-gel, and squeezes some into Derek's waiting hand.

Stiles shivers as Derek begins washing him, and remembers he needs to finish washing Derek.

Stiles smirks slightly as he slides down his soapy hand to curl around Derek's dick, if there's any place that needs to be cleaned from cum, it's here.

Derek's hips thrust forward slightly, a groan escaping him as Derek's soapy hands go from scrubbing Stiles' back to clutching him tightly, and after tonight, Stiles isn't surprised by the way Derek's dick twitches and hardens in his grip.

"Stiles," Derek warns as he slides his hands down Derek's back, and then cupping Stiles' ass.

"What?" Stiles asks innocently. "I'm just making sure you're all clean."

“You’re a menace,” Derek growls, watching as Stiles pushes back the foreskin on his cock to swipe his thumb around his cock head.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be dating me. Now shut up and let me clean you dick,” Stiles cracks a grin as Derek makes a groan.

“Such language, am I going to have to wash your mouth out with soap?”

“ _Puh-lease._ You love my dirty mouth, but if you want me to be more formal—let me wash your penis, dear.”

Derek makes a face, scrunching his nose up a little as he says, “Don’t.”

“Not liking that one? That’s okay, I have more. Your phallus? Love muscles? Schlong.”

“Stiles, please—“ Derek tries when Stiles keeps going.

“Purple-helmeted love warrior. Heat seeking moisture missile. Single barrel pump action bollock. Steamin’ semen truck.”

“God, I hate you so much.”

" _Liar_ ," Stiles says in a singsong voice, utterly gleeful at the look of disgust on Derek's face at the list of _other_ words for his dick, and then Stiles squeezes slightly as he strokes his hand over Derek's dick, and he knew all was forgiven.

Derek's eyes flutter close, his head tilting back without worry about protecting his throat, a groan leaves his lips as his hips thrust into Stiles' grip.

Truly, Stiles didn't think there's anything more pretty then Derek when he's feeling pleasure.

" _Stiles_ ," Derek says, his voice going breathless as he fucks himself into Stiles' grip.

"It's okay," Stiles soothes, swiping his thumb under the head of Derek's dick. "You can let go, Der. Don't hold yourself back."

Derek's guttural groan sounds like relief and surrender as he drops his head against Stiles' shoulder, fucking his cock into Stiles' grip as he holds Stiles' close, his hands gripping Stiles' ass.

Stiles slides his other hand Derek's back, curling a hand around one of Derek's ass-cheek, and Derek whines as the tips of Stiles' long fingers brush against his hole.

"You look so pretty like this," Stiles turns to press his lips against Derek's ear. "So damn pretty, Der."

" _Stiles_ ," Derek whines as one long finger rubs over his hole, clenching and unclenching as if he's attempting to capture the tip of Stiles' finger.

"All soft with pleasure, desperate with need, _god_ , I can't get enough of the sight of you like this," Stiles continues, his voice husky as he nips at Derek's ear.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Derek groans as Stiles’ hand squeezes the base of his cock where he knot inflated earlier.

“Mmmh, good. Cause I’m the only person allowed to do anything to you. You’re mine, Derek,” Stiles bites at the werewolf’s jugular.

“Fuck!” Derek almost yells as teeth press into his skin, pushing his hips backwards until Stiles’ finger is pushed inside of him.

“And so needy. Don’t worry baby, I like how needy you are,” Stiles circles his thumb over the head before jerking him off, he crooks his finger upwards until Derek’s on his toes with pleasure.

“Stiles— _Stiles—aah!_ ” Derek cries as he starts to cum, thick ropes of his orgasm stripping Stiles’ thigh, most of it falling to the floor of the shower and slipping down to the drain.

Stiles bites at Derek's throat again, pulling a whine from his boyfriend as Derek fucks into Stiles' grip, chasing the last of his orgasm as Stiles presses against Derek's prostate with his finger.

Derek shudders as he slumps against Stiles when he finishes, whimpering as Stiles pulls his finger out of him and leaves Derek feeling empty.

"It's okay, babe," Stiles soothes, stroking a hand down the curve of Derek's ass. "I've got you."

Derek mouths at Stiles' bruised throat, feeling lazy and loose limbed after his orgasm, and just wanting to curl up with Stiles and sleep.

"Gone all cuddly wolf again?" Stiles asks softly, turning to press a kiss against Derek's hair, and Derek doesn't even grumble at the nickname. "Come on, Der. We have to get ready for bed."

Derek hums, not really wanting to move, and he can almost feel Stiles eye roll before Derek shivers with a grumble as the shower is turned off.

"Come on Der," Stiles encourages him, squeezing Derek's ass. "We have need to dry ourselves off, change the sheet, and then we can relax and sleep."

Derek sighs as he pulls back, not pouting despite what Stiles' grin says, and the both of them ready themselves to step out of the shower.

* * *

Stiles makes quick work of cleaning Derek up and drying him off before leading the man into the bedroom.

Derek helps change the dirty sheets and put on some new ones while Stiles finds them a clean set, the werewolf whining at the loss of sleeping in their mixed orgasm.

However the loss is short when he finishes putting the new sheets on the bed and Stiles curls up against the far side, opening his arms and making a grabby motion for Derek to join him.

“Sleep. Now,” Stiles tells him which has Derek snorting.

“Yes, love,” Derek climbs in under the covers, sighing as he wraps his arms around Stiles’ body, moulding Stiles’ body against his and tucking his mate’s head up under his chin.

He’s so happy and relaxed he could purr in this moment.

Stiles runs his hand up and down Derek’s back, trailing up to the little hairs on the back of Derek’s head to play with them. Derek gives a happy little hum when lips press against his Adam’s apple.

“Sleep,” Stiles mutters again as Derek cuddles closer to him. “No funny business.”

Derek snorts at that as he strokes one hand down Stiles' back, resting it and spreading it possessive at Stiles' lower back.

There's nothing acting as a barrier between their bodies, nothing denying him access to all of Stiles' fair skin, and Derek would be a liar if he says it's not slightly arousing, but it's mostly comforting.

There's a comfort, a freedom, in simply being in his own skin and with his mate's bare skin against him that he doubts anyone not a werewolf would understand.

There's nothing hindering or dulling his sense of touch, there's nothing stopping him from feeling the whole of Stiles' body pressed against his, lazy and slipping towards sleep, content and comfortable pressed against Derek, safe in their den.

It soothes his instincts that have been a heightened mess since he woke up to the first tug of the moon on his bones, warming his blood, and his wolf demanding their mate, and Derek wishes they could stay like this.

But Stiles has school in the morning, something that Derek is in two minds about as Stiles will be leaving him for _hours_ , but it also means that Scott will _finally_ be gone from the rest of the den.

The presence of the Omega hadn't helped Derek control his instincts, not when he proved himself hostile, and not appreciating the fact that Peter—Derek's Alpha and mother—had opened up their den to him to protect both _him_ and others.

Derek dreads the fact that he'll probably have to spent the foreseeable full moons with Scott around, and he knows that the Omega will just upset Jackson, setting back his control, due to Scott's hostility.

"Sleep," Stiles grumbles sleepily against his throat. "You're thinking too loud."

Derek lets out a huff of laughter at that, cupping the back of Stiles' neck as he closes his eyes, ready to sleep.

* * *

“Scott, if you keep acting up like this, I will have to keep you in here every time a full moon comes around,” Peter sighs tiredly, rubbing at his temples.

“I’m—rrr—I’m trying to get control! But it’s—aaarrrggh—it’s too fucking hard with you standing there,” Scott snarls, sounding like a rabid animal.

“I have been doing nothing, but _trying_ to help you,” Peter holds back the urge to snap and flash red eyes.

Jackson snorts, and Peter wishes he had let the teenager out earlier since all he’s been doing is playing on his phone and making comment after comment.

It had gotten to the point where Peter had to give his own child a _look_ because each comment was making Scott’s control slip.

 _Not that his control really made much of a difference,_ Peter can't help, but think to himself.

Peter had never met someone as pig-headed, stubborn and completely incapable of listening to reason as Scott McCall. And that's without Peter thinking of the utter nonsense Scott apparently liked to spew that the bite had ruined his life.

Curing his crippling asthma, allowing him to make First-line with ease, capturing the attention of the pretty new girl? Obviously, a nightmare, and not a dream come true.

Peter rather wishes he had chased the lingering and familiar scent of Stiles— _Mischief_ —then Scott.

Sure, the Bite wouldn't have taken Stiles then either, but at least Stiles would have embraced the bond whole heartily once he realised it was to Peter, _and_ Peter wouldn't have to deal with the mistake every full moon from here till, quite possibly, _forever_.

Truly, Peter hadn't killed nearly enough people in his life as the Left Hand of the Hale Pack to deserve _this_.

Peter rubs at the bridge of his nose, trying not to pinch it out of frustration.

He knew that the smell of his frustration isn't helping Scott cling to control, but he couldn't exactly stop himself feeling that way, and he isn't going to cloak his own scent in his own den, taking away the comfort it gives his own son, just because of the Omega.

"Would you rather me leave then? Let you spend the rest of the moon alone?" Peter asks, somewhat hopeful because, damn it all, Peter could be having amazing sex with Chris right now.

"And leave me chained up like an animal?" Scott demands in a snarl, and Peter bites back his first response that he's never had to treat an animal like _this_ , and then his second response of the words if the shoe fits.

Peter has to remind himself that he's meant to getting Scott under _some_ control before morning, not riling him up even more.

“Fine. Let’s try this the old fashion way,” Peter walks over to the wall where he had a few items stored for training purposes, pulling out an old amulet with the Hale symbol on it, Peter walked back over to where Scott was and crouched down to show him the amulet.

“What’s that?”

“This is a special amulet to help you with your control,” Peter lies, but neither of the wolves can tell. “It’s magical.”

“Really?” Scott actually perks up at that, and Peter has to hold back the urge to roll his eyes.

“Yes. Here take it and hold it in your hand,” Peter hands the amulet over, mindful of Scott’s claws. “Now, repeat after me. Alpha, Beta, Omega.”

“Alpha, Beta, Omega,” Scott says, a little bit of hesitance in his voice.

“Good, good. Now try it again. Alpha, Beta, Omega. And I want you to think about something that makes you happy, makes you feel human.”

Scott furrows his brow slightly, obviously thinking, and mutters the chant to himself.

Peter isn't surprised that after half-a-dozen repeats of the chants that Scott's Beta shift slips away as the young werewolf believes in the magic of the amulet.

"It works!" Scott looks amazed and surprised before frowning suspiciously. "Why didn't Derek just give me this earlier? Things would have been so much better if he did."

"Derek didn't know it was in my apartment," Peter explains evenly despite the mother inside him wanting to snarl at the tone Scott uses when he talks about Derek, and it's the truth this time. "Now, whenever you feel like you're losing control, I want you to hold the amulet, repeat the mantra, and focus."

Scott nods, holding the amulet like a lifeline, and Peter suspects he'll be another one that doesn't notice the scratched out Made In China stamp on it.

"Do you think you have enough control to be let out now?" Peter asks carefully, feeling Jackson's narrowed eyes on his back.

Obviously, his pup isn't impressed that Peter would hand over a 'magic' amulet to Scott, and Peter will have to measure up if he trusts Jackson enough to handle the truth of the amulet.

Peter also doesn't know if Derek ever figured out the truth of the amulet or not, and he supposes he'll just have to wait and see.

"Of course, I can now," Scott says confidently, arrogantly, clutching the amulet close, and Peter holds back the urge to roll his eyes as Jackson gets up with a sigh.

"Does that mean we can _all_ leave now?" Jackson asks with a sulky tone, a scowl appearing on his face as he stares at the amulet. "I'm tired of being trapped in here with this loser."

Scott glares, gritting his teeth, and he clutches the amulet close when it looks like his eyes are going to flash, and then he forcefully relaxes after a moment, a smug look on his face as the 'magic' amulet works again.

Peter closes his eyes with a sigh as Jackson's top lip curls into a silent snarl.

“If you can both act civil enough _not_ to rip each other’s throats out, then yes. You can both leave,” Peter crosses his arms.

 _It’s like dealing with six year olds. The both of them_ , Peter thinks to himself as he watches the two boys glare at one another before pulling back.

“I can act civil,” Jackson grunts.

“Me too,” Scott huffs.

“Good. Now keep that attitude the rest of the night and you won’t end up back in here,” Peter moves to open the door, happy to finally be out of the safe room.

He doesn’t bother to watch where both the werewolves go to, as he himself is on a separate mission.

* * *

Peter goes to his room first, frowning when he doesn’t find his mate in there and then decides to check the study.

Passing by Derek’s den, Peter listens in to the quiet room before peeking inside to see what’s going on.

He smiles when he sees Derek curdle around his mate, the two of them fast asleep and the room smelling like sex and happy emotions.

Peter will never admit how anxious he felt when Derek left to see Stiles.

He had every confidence that Stiles would straighten out Derek's assumption, but he hadn't been confidence that Derek would actually _listen_.

But it turns out that Derek had listened, and Peter is happy that the both of them had sorted things out between.

 _Rather well considering how strongly the room smells of sex_ , Peter smirks to himself as he closes to door quietly.

Peter is still smirking when he enters his study to find Chris there, and it only drops slightly when he sees his mate sitting on the blanket covered couch—the couch he needs to replace—and staring into his whiskey tumbler with a far-away look on his face.

"Do you know how much you can hear from the kitchen?" Chris asks him without looking up. "There's no door to muffle the sound."

"Chris?" Peter asks in confusion as Chris looks up with a pained face.

"I know far too much about your son's sex life, and my daughter's interest in hearing about it," Chris informs him gravely, and Peter stares for a moment before laughter bubbles up, and out of him.

“Oh my love, you’re so silly at times. I’ll make sure to talk to them about keeping things a little more quiet,” Peter stalks across the room so he can sit next to his mate.

Slinging an arm around Chris’s shoulder, while the other rubs at the man’s chest, a slight purr escaping Peter’s throat when Chris turns his head to press a kiss to his lips.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day,” Chris comments, setting down his glass of whiskey so he can turn his whole attention to Peter. “I missed you, pumpkin.”

“Mmhh, I missed you as well, Christopher. But you know what I really miss?”

“Getting a good night’s sleep and not getting interrupted by teenage shenanigans?”

Peter huffs, “Well, yes, that too. But what I really miss is having sex on the full moon. Getting lost in the passion of it all.”

“I think I might be a little too drunk for that tonight, love,” Chris reaches up to stroke Peter’s face. “I think our kids are gonna push me to drinking.”

There's a warm giddiness in his chest at Chris saying _our_ kids, and Peter can't help, but kiss his ridiculous mate.

Chris immediately deepens it, clearly having missed Peter as much as Peter had missed him, and before Peter can really think it through, he's somehow on Chris' lap, his legs spread and bracketing Chris' hips, and the red silk night-robe has slipped to reveal his underwear.

Chris groans, hands rubbing up Peter's bare thighs before slipping into Peter's boxers and cupping his ass.

Obviously, Chris' concerns about drinking too much is not needed as Peter can feel his mate's erection through the sweatpants Chris put on this morning.

Peter pulls back from the kiss somewhat reluctantly, and Chris' lips kiss a path to his neck, mouthing at Peter's Mating Bite, and making the werewolf shudder with a moan and arch into his mate.

"I want you," Peter tells Chris huskily, pressing a kiss to the side of Chris' head, and shivering at the rasp of Chris' scruff against his throat. "I want to taste you, I want to feel you, I want your cum dripping from me."

Chris' answering groan sounds like it's punched out of him.

"I want you to fuck me until I can barely feel my legs, I want you to not be able to think about anything that isn't me," Peter continues breathlessly, not even thinking about what he's saying, just voicing his desires. "I want you to _bite_ me again, _claim_ me over and over, I want proof this is real, that we can _finally_ be together."

"You're mine," Chris bites at the Mating Bite, Peter moaning and shuddering. "Mine, and I'm yours."

"Mine," Peter says, confirms, _marvels_ , and Chris shudders in return as he presses his hips up. "Fuck me, Chris. I'm not going to break."

“Bedroom,” Chris states, attempting to stand up and carry his beautiful mate.

But this isn’t like it was years ago when Peter was younger, and he could carry the man around in his arms.

“Fuck,” Chris grunts, stumbling a little as he sets Peter back on the ground. “Guess you’re not as light as you were before. Too much muscle on your bones.”

“Are you calling me fat, old man?” Peter smirks and gives his mate a raised eyebrow.

Chris grows flustered as he stutters out, “No! No. Never, pumpkin. I was just stating—“

“I’m only teasing, Christopher. Besides—“ Peter makes a show of picking Chris up and carrying him out of the study. “I can just carry you myself.”

There's no hiding the thrill of arousal going through him from his werewolf mate, and Chris enjoys the sight of Peter's cocky smirk to even try to hide it.

He's not embarrassed by being carried like a bride, not when it means he can bite and kiss Peter's throat, making the younger curse slightly and almost stumble.

"You're playing with fire, _mate_ ," Peter rumbles, instincts running high as the Alpha in him demands to throw his mate down, make his mate _present_ and then fuck him.

"Are you going to fuck me?" Chris asks, clenching as he remembers Peter's knot in him, how much bigger it had gotten, and then he bites at the Mating Bite.

Peter growls, a deep growl in his chest, and he almost kicks the door of their bedroom open, not bothering to close it as he moves to drop his mate onto their bed, eyes bleeding red as he looks down at Chris' shirtless form.

"If I fuck you tonight, Christopher, I'll be fucking you until _I'm_ satisfied," Peter warns in a growl. "I'll fuck you, and after I knot you? I'm going to keep fucking you until I can't cum anymore. Do you understand that? I could fuck you unconscious, and I still may not be able to stop."

 _That_ should make the heat in Chris' stomach all the hotter, shouldn't make his cock twitch, and his ass clench, but it _does_ , and Peter inhales deeply, eyes glowing a bright red as he stares down at Chris like he's prey.

"Then do it," Chris tells him, dares the Alpha in front of him. "Make it so I'm unable to walk tomorrow, if you can."

The taunt makes Peter snarl, his claws popping, and Chris gasps as Peter uses them to tear and rip Chris' sweatpants and boxers off.

The silk slips down his arms, pooling on the floor, and Peter rips his boxers off with an almost absent tug as he watches Chris.

"Onto your hands and knees, Christopher," Peter rumbles as he rests one of his knees on the bed, ready to push himself onto the bed and crawl to his mate. "Present for your Alpha."

“ _Fuck_ ,” Chris grunts, enjoying the way Peter bosses him around.

Before he was use to always giving orders, telling Peter which way to turn and flip. How he wanted to fuck the werewolf that night, wanted to watch this dangerous creature come undone beneath him and howl with pleasure.

Chris had wanted to tame that wild side of Peter, wanted to keep the wolf as a pet so he could adore and worship this beautiful creature.

But things didn’t end up the way either of them wanted it to, and Chris wishes he could go back and shake his younger self. Choose the better path, instead of being a blind fool.

“You make such a pretty sight like this, I don’t know why I didn’t have you on your hands and knees before. You’d make such a perfect bitch for me,” Peter quirks a grin at the hunter, running clawed hands down Chris’s spine. “My little bitch.”

“Jesus—fuck!” Chris yells when Peter presses two fingers into his asshole.

Chris hadn't even heard the snap of a lid, but Peter's fingers are slick inside him, moving to prepare him with impatience, and not to play with him like Peter sometimes liked too—like Chris used to do with Peter.

In a way, Chris had been very cruel to Peter.

He'd tease Peter until the werewolf had been begging for it, edge the younger man closer and closer to an orgasm before backing off, leaving him frustrated, and on the verge of tears with frustration and need, humping at the air and whining for Chris.

It had been a power rush, to have so much control over someone that could kill him in one blow, and looking back, it's not something he's proud of doing to someone he loved.

Peter had every right to take cruel delight in teasing Chris, of torturing him with pleasure, but Peter hasn't, he's just fallen into a naturally commending nature of an Alpha which sends heat to Chris' stomach, makes him shiver with lust and need.

Chris finds it so easy to give into Peter, to not push Peter down for his own wants—only some of his hesitation is due to Peter's history, to the trauma he's been through—and he doesn't think he's known more pleasure in his life.

It doesn't matter if Peter's riding him or fucking him, the younger man has an air of commend over him, has control over what's happening, and Chris loves it, loves everything about it because it's Peter, Peter's here, Peter's fucking him, holding him, kissing him, _loving_ him.

It's everything he's been dreaming about for over seventeen years.

"Pay attention to me," Peter growls, biting one of Chris' ass cheeks, and Chris yelps, fisting the sheets underneath him. "Focus on me only, think of only me, feel only me, your mate, your Alpha."

"Yes, Alpha," Chris shudders as he says those words, the words feeling right, and falling off his lips so easily.

There's a rumble, a clawed hand gripping his hip, the brush of Peter's cock against the back of his thigh.

"Careful, mate, I haven't finished preparing you."

“You could fuck me right now and I wouldn’t care. I want you so badly, Peter,” Chris clenches around his mate’s fingers.

“I could hurt you.”

“I _know_ ,” Chris looks at Peter, lifting his head up so the man can see the expression on his face.

“Oh? You want me to punish you, Christopher? To take control and make you pay for all the heartbreak you gave me? Is this what you want?”

“Yes- _yes_ , please. I deserve it. I’m sorry, let me make it up to you. I’ll make it feel good,” Chris groans as he feels nails drag down his back.

“Oh, I know you’ll make it good, Christopher. I know you’ll roll over and show me your belly, let me slice you’re skin open and fuck you until you’ve passed out. But I’m not going to do that.”

“Wh-why not? I deserve it.”

Peter presses a kiss to the nape of Chris' neck, "Because I love you."

"Peter, _please_ ," Chris tries not to let his tone slip into begging, and Peter kisses him on the shoulder.

"Because I hurt you too," Peter continues to list of the reasons, Chris gritting his teeth in frustration.

Doesn't Peter understand that Chris hurt him so much worse than he ever thought Peter hurt him? That Chris deserves to be punished, that Peter deserves to get some revenge for how Chris treated him, never mind how Chris left him without a word.

A kiss to the top of Chris' spine, "Because I'm not cruel or twisted enjoy to see someone I love hurt and bleed, especially not by my hands."

It'd be a good pain, Chris believes, a cleansing pain, to cleanse him of his sins against Peter.

A kiss to the middle of his back, "Because I want you to feel good when we have sex, I never want you to think of pain when it comes to us having sex."

Chris wants to be punished though, _needs_ to be punished.

A kiss at the base of his spine, a shuddering breath against the dimple above his ass, and Peter's tone is somewhat pained as he continues, "Because I am not your family, I am not my sister, I will _never_ punish you with violence."

Chris shudders at the mention of his family, clenches his jaw at the mention of Talia, but he's still committed to what he asked for.

"I treated you like I was taming you into being my pet werewolf," Chris spits out, old anger and self-hatred pouring out. "I didn't realise what was happening to you, I fucked you without once considering if you were alright, I didn't tell you about my engagement, I didn't tell you about my marriage, I let Victoria steal my phone, I let her leave while knowing she would be going to you, and I never tried to contact you again. I'm the reason Kate targeted your son, I'm the reason she went after your family, I'm the reason she used your son like that. I _deserve_ to be punished."

Peter presses a finger to Chris’s lips, “Shut up.”

That has the man clamping his mouth shut.

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I punish you, Chris. You say you’re the one who hurt me, but I don’t believe you. You weren’t the cause for any of this nor were you the one who started it.”

Peter flips the man over on to his back as he can keep fingering him open, making sure Chris can look at him as he does this. He pushes in a third finger, watching the way Chris’s face stutters on that frozen look before melting into a soft groan.

“You aren’t the cause of your family’s prejudice or hatred. They’re close minded bigots. You’re perfect—“

“No,” Chris whines softly, his voice shaking as Peter keeps stretching his ass open. He shakes his head but then those rough lips are on him again, and he is a weak man to them.

"Yes," Peter hisses, biting softly at Chris' lip, and deepening the kiss when Chris opens his mouth with a moan. "You're my mate, my _perfect_ mate."

Chris reaches up to clutch at Peter's shoulders, gasping and groaning as Peter presses against his prostate for a moment before refocusing on quickly opening Chris up.

"Peter, Peter," Chris almost chants, nails digging into Peter's shoulders as Peter slips a fourth finger into him, spreading them within him. "I'm ready, I'm ready, _please._ "

How could Peter deny such a pretty beg?

Peter pulls out his fingers to Chris' whine, and swiftly slicks up his cock, "Spread your legs for me, love."

Chris spreads them, looking wanton, and Peter growls as he positions the head of his cock at Chris' loose and wet hole.

Chris lets out a groan as Peter slowly inches his way in him, spreading him wider and filling him perfectly, and Chris wraps his legs around Peter's waist, using them to pull Peter fully into him, groaning as Peter's hips lay flush with his ass.

"Impatient," Peter teases, slightly breathlessly, and Chris lets out his own growl as he fists one hand in Peter's hair.

"Fuck me," Chris demands, staring the Alpha straight in the eyes. "I'm not going to break."

Peter's lips twitch at having his words thrown back into his face, and then he lowers himself so he's flush against Chris, gripping Chris by the hips with one hand, and using the other as leverage, Peter begins to fuck his mate in quick, hard thrusts.

Chris groans loudly, his head dropping back as he clings to Peter, and Peter doesn't deny himself from kissing, sucking and biting at the freely offered neck.

"You'd get impatient if I attempted to fuck you slowly," Peter says against Chris' neck, nipping and licking at it. "Always so impatient, I could fuck you for _hours_ without us cumming if you weren't, could keep you balanced on the knife's edge of cumming if I wanted to. But no," Peter gives a sharp thrust that earns him a whine. "Impatient.”

“Peter!” Chris cries, reaching behind to grab at the pillows so he has a grip on something while Peter fucks him.

Peter groans as Chris squeezes around his dick, gripping the older man’s hips in a bruising hold, Peter lets himself go for a moment, not caring if he’s too loud or too hard as he fucks away into Chris’s right ass.

He thinks about the fact that Chris hasn’t had sex with any other man since Peter. The hunter’s ass was virgin ground and ripe got the taking.

So Peter was going to take it, was going to mark this man and _claim_ him, make sure no one else, no other werewolf, man or hunter would touch _his mate._

“You’re mine. You know that right, Chris? You belong to me now. There’s no walking away or turning back, you’re my mate, and now that I have you again, I’m not letting anyone take you from me.”

“Yes! Yes— _Peter-Peter!_ Oh, harder, more. Please, Alpha,” Chris begs.

Peter snarls at that, claws digging into the soft flesh of Chris' hips, and he can feel his fangs dropping as he fucks Chris harder, aiming his hips just so, and Chris yells as Peter hits his prostate repeatedly.

" _Mine_ ," Peter almost roars as he feels his knot begins to swell, Chris tightening his grip around Peter's waist with his legs. " _My_ mate, _mine_. I'll rip apart anyone that tries to take you away from me, I'll hunt you down if you leave again. You're mine, you gave yourself to me, and I won't let you go."

" _Don't_ ," Chris tugs on Peter's hair, pulling him closer and releasing his grip on the pillow to grab at Peter's shoulder, holding as tightly as possible. "I'll kill anyone that tries to hurt you again, I promise I won't let anyone touch you again, I'm not going to leave you."

A normal therapist would probably have been horrified by their vows of devotion, of how easily they are willing to kill for each other, but fuck that, this is why Peter went to Noshiko to arrange therapy for Derek and himself.

She'd raise one eyebrow, something faintly approving at Chris' returned devotion in her dark eyes, and casually offer old burial sites for the bodies.

Peter shifts so he's on his knees more, lifting Chris up slightly by the hips, and Peter fucks his mate harder as Chris tugs him down by the hair into an almost brutal kiss.

Chris is barely aware of Peter's fangs, just biting and kissing at Peter's mouth as groans and grunts are pulled easily from his lips, and Chris only breaks away when he can barely breathe.

Fangs graze down his exposed throat, and then Chris cries out as Peter bites down on the Mating Bite, skin yielding easily to Peter's fangs, blood welling up, and Chris actually whines as he feels Peter's knot start to tug on his rim.

Chris howls beneath him, gripping Peter’s shoulders harshly as the wolf bites into him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Chris almost yells as he starts to cum, clenching down tightly as Peter’s knot stretches him open.

Groaning with a mouthful of his mate’s skin and blood in his mouth, Peter makes a soft whine as he starts to cum, knot locking into place and keeping his mate’s ass open and wide as he cums and cums inside. Both of them groan and not at the sensation, missing it like a lost limb.

Peter’s face grows a little strained at the nerve wrecking feeling of his knot being clenched over and over again. When it settles down, he drops unceremoniously on top of Chris’s body, whining as his sensitive knot gets tugged.

“I forgot how sensitive this makes you,” Chris states after panting for a moment.

Peter doesn't say anything, lapping at Chris' bloody bite-mark as Chris runs his hand down from where he had been clutching Peter's shoulder down his back.

Chris arches his neck, allowing Peter to have more access to lick at the Mating Bite, and unable to stop the shivers working through him at each broad lick against the bite. It's like the Mating Bite is connected to his cock, each lick making his sensitive cock twitch as it tries in vein to harden again.

"You keep clenching like that, and I'll not be able to control myself," Peter tells him huskily, hips hitching slightly, and Chris groans in painful pleasure as Peter's knot rubs in him.

"I can't help it," Chris tries to protest as Peter licks over his Mating Bite again, the sensation going straight through him, and making Chris clench down slightly with a whimper. "Fuck, Peter."

Chris isn't in his early twenties anymore, he can't get hard again so quickly, and over-sensitivity seems to last longer.

But in this moment, Chris doesn't care.

Peter's covering him, anchoring him down with his prone body, Peter's in him, stretching him open with his knot, and Chris knows he can make Peter cum again, and _again_ until Peter's almost unconscious due to pleasure.

Chris wants that, wants the pained pleasure of over-sensitivity, wants Peter fucking him helplessly, whining and gasping with pleasure against him.

It could be his desire to be punished shining through, his desire for Peter to use him like Chris feels like he used to use Peter, but it also could be that Chris just misses the sex they had, when they could spend all day and night in bed, and finding all sorts of ways to give each other pleasure.

Peter, however, will probably only see this as an attempt to punish himself, Chris thinks.

"You're not going to fuck me more?" Chris tests, stroking down Peter's back.

"Teenagers are tiring," Peter mutters into his neck. "And annoying."

Chris huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to Peter's hair.

“Trust me, I know. And it’s only going to get a little worse now that we have a bunch of werewolves to take care of,” Chris huffs a laugh.

“Oh, don’t act like your kids aren’t as bad,” Peter huffs.

“Oh so they’re my kids when they act up? Shouldn’t they be yours since you’re the one who always causes trouble?” Chris snorts.

“Nope. I’m the good one out of the two of us,” Peter smirks.

“Sure you are, love,” Chris kisses Peter’s lips before settling back down. “Well if you’re not going to fuck me then I guess we’ll just have to get some sleep.”

“Hmmm, sounds wonderful. I’ll keep an ear out just in case the pups cause any trouble.”

“You’re a good Alpha, you know that right, Peter?” Chris turns his head slightly, so he can look at his mate.

Peter pauses, his face going still for a moment before a smile pulls to his lips, “I do now. Thank you, Christopher.”

* * *

Stiles is comfortable, nice and snug, cuddling up with his giant puppy of a boyfriend, and in that night between place of sleep and awake.

Stiles' lips are pressed against Derek's neck, one of Stiles' thighs had nudges its way between Derek's legs in the night, and he can feel Derek's morning wood resting against it, and one of Derek's hands is possessively gripping Stiles' ass, keeping them pressed together.

Derek sighs slightly in his sleep, a shuddering sigh as his hips moves restlessly, and Derek's erections starts rubbing against Stiles' thigh, and Stiles thinks some lazy morning sex is the perfect way to start the day as he slides one hand down Derek's side lazily, and without opening his eyes, and cups Derek's ass, encouraging his boyfriend to hump away as his own dick twitches.

Derek moans in his sleep, hand flexing on Stiles' ass, and his hips begin to move with more determination as Stiles drifts between sleep and wake.

All in all, it seems like a perfect start to the morning.

Then his alarm blares making Stiles almost jump as he wakes completely with a curse. Thankfully for Derek's sake, he didn't fully jump, or Stiles' thigh would have jabbed not too nicely between his legs.

Derek grumbles at the noise of the alarm, turning his face to hide it against Stiles’ hair while his mate reaches over him to turn the alarm off.

“You know you could have just turned it off yourself, instead of making me struggle,” Stiles grunts when the tips of his fingers finally touch his phone, and he can turn it off.

“Where would the fun in that be?” Derek mumbles in response, smirking when Stiles gives an agitated huff.

“You’re evil,” Stiles curls back up under the covers, smiling when Derek snuffs at his hair.

“And you have to get up to go to school in under an hour,” the werewolf points out.

“You know I was going to spend at least a _few_ minutes just lying here with you. But it _sounds_ like you want me to leave so I think I will.”

Derek growls as Stiles starts to get up and leave the warmth and safety of their bed, he uses the one arm he has wrapped around Stiles’ waist and pull his mate back down under the sheets.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

"Oh yeah?" Stiles raises his eyebrows at Derek, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," Derek mutters, eyes slipping close again as he nuzzles at Stiles.

"I don't know," Stiles says in a musing tone, completely counteracting his words by wrapping himself around Derek. "You were being quite mean to me, perhaps I should take my cuddles to Jackson."

It's a tease, a taunt, and Derek rolls them until Stiles' is under him, and Derek can keep him in bed bodily, and Stiles grins impishly up at him, amber eyes filled with mischief, and Derek grumbles slightly before kissing his mate softly on the lips.

"I suppose this is a good start to making it up to me," Stiles says against his lips, kissing Derek back. "But only a start."

"Only a start, huh?" Derek asks, trailing his lips down to Stiles' bruised neck, wondering if there's any free skin to suck another mark on. "What more do you want?"

Stiles arches his neck, pressing his head further against the pillow, and Derek rumbles as he sucks a mark just under Stiles' Adam's apple, shifting his hips just so.

"I..." Stiles tries, his mind unable to truly come up with anything to say when Derek is pressed all naked against him, his erection just brushing Stiles', and Derek sucking on his neck. " _Fuck_ , Der."

There's an almost dark chuckle from Derek, and Stiles moans instead of yelps when Derek nips at his throat with just a hint of fang.

Yes, Stiles realises that this is just another example of his mind being a bit fucked with the danger and self-preservation thing, but you try having normal self-preservation instincts when you have a sexy werewolf boyfriend.

“I think you have broken me for any and all normal sex,” Stiles moans as Derek keeps sucking on his throat.

“Good,” the man grunts, nuzzling against Stiles’ throat when he sees the clear markings he’s left on his mate’s throat.

He can’t help but preen at the sight of those marks, the tell-tale sign that Stiles belongs to him. His perfect mate. Pressing one more kiss to Stiles’ throat, Derek stretches and then rolls off of Stiles and the bed, smirking when Stiles makes a confused noise behind me.

“Wait, we’re not gonna have some fun under the sheets?” Stiles sits up on his elbows, watching Derek’s glorious backside as the man pulls on a pair of jeans.

“Nope,” Derek grins, “You need to get ready for school, and I want to work out for a while. I’ve been slacking off.”

Stiles whines, flopping back on the bed and watching Derek as he searches for some socks.

“This is cruel and inhuman punishment, you know that right? Leaving your boyfriend alone in bed to deal with his morning wood. That’s evil, Derek! Evil!”

Derek comes over and smacks a kiss onto Stiles’ lips, “You’ll get used to it, babe.”

“Derek! No, don’t leave me!”

Derek feels a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest as Stiles wraps himself around Derek’s chest, his mate clinging to him like a baby monkey.

“Sorry, Stiles, but the woods are calling to me. Besides, you can just finish up in bed or in the shower. I won’t mind either way,” Derek grins as Stiles makes an affronted noise.

“I’m going to rub my dick all over your pillow if you don’t stop me.”

Turning his head, Derek gives Stiles a heated gaze, letting the blue glow of his eyes shine brightly as he tells his mate, “If you think that’s going to bother me at all, you’re dead wrong, _mate_.”

"Oh my god, you think me humping against your pillow is hot," Stiles realises leaning back slightly, still clinging to Derek's gloriously bare and hairy chest. "You'd not change the pillowcase at all, would you? You'd actually sleep on a pillow with my cum stained on it!"

"To the smell of my mate and sex," Derek corrects, pressing a short but heated kiss to Stiles' lips. "To the smell of how horny I get my mate."

"Werewolves," Stiles mutters in disbelief as Derek unwraps Stiles from him, lips twitching at the pathetic pout Stiles levels him.

Stiles bites his lips slightly as he remembers Derek mentioning the woods, and reaches out for one of Derek's hands, "Be careful, okay? If you're going to run in the Preserve, be careful. I don't really like the idea of you leaving the safety of the den when _she's_ somewhere around here."

Derek pauses, he hadn't really thought about that.

All Derek had been thinking is that he's spent the whole weekend doing nothing accept have sex, cuddle, and snack, and his skin has been prickling with the need to exercise, to keep in shape for Stiles.

At that reminder that _she_ could be around, possibly having trapped any of the old running trails that generations of his family had used, well, it makes part of Derek want to snarl at the intruder on their lands, while another part wants to whimper and keep curled up in the safety of the den with Stiles.

There's a voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounds very much like Talia's, that's calling him a coward, telling him to man up and stop being scared of a single woman.

A woman that killed most of his Pack, destroyed part of Derek that he doesn't think he'll ever get back, and put his mother in a coma for six years—six years where Peter had been tortured and raped—and Derek swallows slightly as Stiles looks at him with eyes full of worry.

"I think I'll use the gym then," Derek says with a shiver, imagining all too clearly what Kate would do to him if she caught him.

“Okay,” Stiles doesn’t say anything after that, not wanting Derek to know how much better he feels knowing that he won’t be out in the woods where it’s probably lurking with hunters.

“Peter will probably drive you to school, or Allison will. Come and say bye to me before you leave,” Derek kisses his mate’s lips once more before leaving the room and heading towards the indoor gym.

Puffing his cheeks up and then blowing the air out, Stiles flops back down onto the bed and curls up under the still warm covers. Only to cringe when his alarm goes off once more.

“No rest for the exhausted teenager, huh,” Stiles grumbles to himself, slapping his phone to silent before getting out of the bed.

The first thing he does it put on a pair of pants, since he doesn’t want to flash anyone and then brushes his teeth. Once that’s finished, he leaves their den to see if Peter has cooked anything up for breakfast.

* * *

"I see your morning began with sexual frustration," Peter comments with some wry amusement almost as soon as Stiles enters the kitchen, turning with a mug of coffee in his hand, and holding it out for Stiles. "I remember those mornings, those dark and frustrating mornings."

"Your sympathy feels insincere," Stiles says with squinted gaze as he takes the mug, taking in the wrinkled red robe and how loosely it's tied. "And like you are mocking me."

"Me? Would I ever do such a thing?" Peter asks in a falsely shocked and appalled voice, turning back to the stove and the large pan of bacon he's currently frying.

"Yes," Stiles says with no hesitation, and Chris snorts from where he's currently stood plating up the eggs while waiting for the toast to pop up. "Am I the first to wake up?"

"No, Lydia and Allison are awake in Allison's room, taking turns with bathroom to shower," Peter answers after a short and betrayed pout towards his mate. "Jackson is also showering, and Scott—"

Peter cocks his head to the side as he listens, and he can hear the Omega still snoring slightly in the living room—the place he fell asleep after Peter released him it seems.

"Is still asleep," Peter finishes as he turns to plate up the bacon on the plates while Chris butters the toast. "Though how he's slept through all this, I don't know. Is Derek not joining us?"

"He's working out," Stiles tells Peter, moving to set the table for the others.

Peter frowns down at the bacon, hoping that the smell of breakfast and the knowledge that Stiles would be going to school would have moved Derek to come back downstairs and eat.

He knows that after breakfast, both Chris and he will need to get dressed as Peter wants to try and track Malia, and Chris is very much against the idea of Peter heading into the Preserve alone.

However, this means that Derek will be home alone, and there will be no one here to remind him to stop and eat something, or drink if he's forgotten to take water up with him.

Fidgeting with the controls on the oven, Peter thinks of a good way to work around that.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Derek to be home alone by himself, he’s just worried that his son might work himself up into a ball of worry and self-hatred. It’s something he’s noticed that Derek does when he’s left alone with his thoughts too much.

“Stiles,” Peter lowers his voice so none of the wolves can hear him. “Could you make sure to remind Derek over the day to eat and take breaks? It’s not that I don’t trust my own son to take care of himself, I’m just...”

“Afraid he’s going to forget or let his guilt get in the way and prevent himself from doing anything?” Stiles finishes for him.

“Exactly,” Peter smirks at the human. “You’re far too smart for a kid your age. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Stiles laughs, taking a sip of the coffee he just made for himself, already on his second cup of the morning.

Peter finishes flipping the bacon over, looking over where his mate is sleepily sipping on his own cup of coffee.

"Go sit down, old man," Peter teases gently, "I can finish up here."

"I'm not _that_ old," Chris mutters, leaning to press a bristly kiss to Peter's cheek before moving over to the table, and gingerly sitting down.

Peter smirks to himself, almost preening at the slight wince that crosses Chris' face, and adds the bacon to the plates while Stiles places his mug down, and comes over to help.

"Bacon and eggs for breakfast?" Jackson sniffs at the air as he enters, looking fresh as if he hadn't just experienced his first full moon yesterday, and dressed fashionably in what Stiles believes is designer jeans, a dark navy shirt with the top two buttons undone, and carrying what looks like a brand new black leather jacket. "Great, I'm starved."

"Well, you did just survive your first full moon," Stiles holds out one of the plates with a more than heavily pile of bacon and eggs, obviously a werewolf portion, and Jackson takes it with a nod of thanks, taking one step to the table before pausing with a furrow of his brow.

"Derek's not here," Jackson states the obvious as he frowns at Derek's empty chair, confusion in his tone.

"He's working out," Stiles answers as Lydia and Allison enter the kitchen, Lydia looking perfectly put together in a black and white honeycomb dress with—Stiles is horrified by himself for recognising now—a shawl neckline, and ready to crush the population of Beacon High School under her five-inch heels while Allison looks to be fashionable and comfortable beside her in slim-fit jeans, dark knee-length heeled leather boots with a pale pink t-shirt under her dark slim-fit leather jacket.

"And missing breakfast," Lydia states, not asks, and there's a slight furrow of concern to her perfectly plucked and shaped brows, taking her plate from Stiles, glancing at how he's only wearing sweatpants. "Thank you."

Peter's face tightens, not likely the reminder that his son is missing a meal, and he just hopes that Derek doesn't make a habit of it.

Stiles takes his plate and another one for Derek, being careful to balance everything out as he makes his way to the gym.

He doesn’t bother explaining where he’s going since he’s sure everyone will already know.

* * *

Entering the gym, Stiles feel his mouth start to water as he watches Derek do pulls ups, a few drops of sweat sliding down his back, and Stiles gets lost staring at the spiral tattoo on Derek’s back. He can’t help himself, the man is just gorgeous to look at.

And Stiles is more than happy to take his fill, knowing that Derek won’t be bothered by his staring.

“Stiles.”

Snapped out of his thoughts by his mate’s words, Stiles blinks and then grins at his boyfriend before holding up the plates.

“I brought food. That you will eat, or else.” Stiles is only half threatening. Well, maybe fully. He just wants his boyfriend to eat and not starve himself the rest of the day.

Derek grabs a towel that Peter must have brought up at some point, and gives his face a quick scrub of sweat before hanging over the pull up bar.

"You want to eat here?" Derek asks with some disbelief, glancing around the gym that Peter hadn't designed with eating in mind.

"Err," Stiles glances around, finally noticing the lack of seating in the room, and gives Derek a sheepish smile. "Library?"

Derek nods as he walks over to Stiles, taking the plates from Stiles so the younger teen only held the cutlery, and then he follows after his mate into the library.

Peter had chosen the seating in the library to be comfortable, something to lounge on mostly, and only one table of a reasonable height to spread research across, and it's that table that Stiles heads to, taking a chair and dropping the cutlery on the solid wood table.

Derek slides the plate with the smaller portion over to Stiles before taking the chair next to Stiles, grabbing the cutlery.

"I would have eaten later," Derek tells Stiles as he watches Stiles cut into his bacon and eggs.

"Yeah?" Stiles glances up, watching Derek make a breakfast sandwich. "When?"

Derek blinks, his mind going blank for a moment, "After I finished working out."

Stiles makes a noise in his throat that says just what he thinks about that before taking his first bite of breakfast.

“Don’t lie, you probably would have forgotten,” Stiles points out, knowing he’s being a little harsh but at the same time he just wants to make sure his boyfriend is safe.

Derek opens his mouth, ready to argue that he would have eaten, only to realize that his mate is right. He would have forgotten or just ignored the hunger in his stomach. Choosing instead to push himself harder.

Closing his mouth, Derek shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with how Stiles is watching him at the moment. His mate sighs, and then reaches over to squeeze Derek’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles tells him. “That was mean of me to say, but I just want you to know that I care about your health and safety. If you don’t eat, it could hurt you in more ways than one. And it was mean of me to point it out, but sometimes being mean is how I show my love for someone.”

“I understand,” Derek answers him, “Laura was the same way when she was growing up. Loving but in a mean way.”

Stiles goes quiet, waiting to see if Derek will tell him more about his sister. But the man clams up and goes about eating his breakfast.

Which is fine, really, and yeah, perhaps Stiles is slightly disappointed, but that a him issue.

Laura was Derek's big sister, a big part of his life, and yeah, Stiles would like Derek to share it with him, but he's aware that the wound is still very raw.

Laura had only been dead about a month, is still stuck in the morgue due to her death being considered an open case despite first thoughts of it being an animal attack.

Stiles frowns down at his plate, absently stabbing at his bacon as he thinks over what he just thought because something just niggled at being wrong.

.....an animal attack....yeah, that fit when Stiles thought Peter ripped her in half in the depths of his insanity, but Peter _didn't_ , Peter accidentally killed her and buried her.......something that should have been picked up on during the autopsy, along with whatever cut her in half.

Stiles read the autopsy report, had his own copy for his murder board, and yet there had been no mention of Laura being buried, that she had been dead for perhaps a week, and no mention of some sort of bladed weapon being used to cut her in half.

No, it had been reported as at least two animals ripping her apart trying to feed on her. Which is gross to imagine, and plainly wrong.

"Stiles?"

Stiles jumps, and winces as it sends his knife screeching across the plate, and smiles weakly at Derek's concerned face.

"Sorry, just something occurred to me," Stiles sheepishly offers, not sure if he should mention that there's a possible Argent man (or woman, or person of no gender) working inside Medical Examiners' Office. “It’s nothing, really.”

Suddenly, it's a lot more real when Chris said that the Argent's have people in place everywhere, and Stiles has a gut feeling that his dad won't be able to keep this from the FBI considering the mass of arrests this whole thing will involve just in Beacon Hills.

Derek eyes him with a frown, making his face look harder and unapproachable like when they first met, and Stiles feels his heart in his throat, hoping Derek isn't pulling away from him for some reason.

“Are you sure it’s nothing?”

Stiles nods his head, “Yeah, I promise. It’s just a theory for now, but if I can get some proof then I’ll explain what’s going on in my crazy head.”

Derek snorts, “You’re not crazy, Stiles. My boyfriend isn’t crazy.”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Stiles teases, grinning when Derek snorts.

“Just a little bit,” Derek pulls Stiles closer to him so he can kiss his cheek. “Finish your food, baby.”

“I should be telling you that,” Stiles grins, giving Derek a cheeky wink before shoving his mouth full food. He ignores the chuffing sound his boyfriend makes as he finishes off the rest of his plate.

* * *

"You should go and get ready," Derek encourages as they both finish breakfast. "I'll take these down to the kitchen."

"And get some water?" Stiles asks, and Derek rolls his eyes with a nod, making Stiles smile. "Good."

Derek snorts as Stiles leans to reward him with a kiss on the cheek, before Stiles is up, and heading towards their bedroom.

Stiles figures he has enough time to have a quick ten minute shower, it's not like he needs to do his hair since he washed it last night, and there isn't a real pressing need to get clean like say, if Stiles had been able to some fun with his boyfriend.

So, first stop, grab some clothes—a pair of those stupidly fitted jeans that make him paranoid about his junk, a t-shirt, boxers and socks, he'll borrow Derek's leather jacket—and then to the bathroom to shower.

Now, Stiles will insist that it's perfectly normal not to really look into the mirror, and he'll defend himself by putting out it's not like he has to do anything like check his hair as it's still short enough to just scrub a hand over it and deem that a brush, and it's not like you _really_ need to look in the mirror when brushing your teeth.

So, Stiles can and will honestly say that the moment he placed his clothes on the counter to change into after his shower, and just happened to look at the mirror is the first time since Friday that he bothered to look at himself in the mirror properly.

And Stiles will maintain that the undignified and rather loud yelp that escapes his mouth is justified as he takes in the numerous bruises trailing up and down his neck, standing out starkly against his pale skin, and making him look like his boyfriend either has a biting-kink (true, when he thinks about it) or he had been loving mauled by a werewolf (also true).

"Oh _my_ god," Stiles traces the distinct mouth marks up and down his throat, staring at his own wide-eye reflection. "Even a scarf won't hide this!"

His dad must not see him this week, Stiles decides.

He needed Lydia’s help. _Now._

Leaving the room and covering the marks on his throat with his hands to find the red headed queen.

“Lydia. Lydia, I need your help pronto,” Stiles tells her as he finds her in the kitchen still, drinking her coffee.

Said red head gives him a raised eyebrow, before leading her back to the safety of his room.

Once the door is closed, Stiles takes his hands away from his throat and cringing at the gasp Lydia makes.

“You look like you were attack by an animal,” she tells him as she gets a closer look at the damage.

Stiles snorts, “The answer you’re looking for is a werewolf boyfriend.”

“Definitely the answer,” Lydia sighs, “Lemme go get my make up bag and see if I can fix this.”

"I can't believe none of you told me about this," Stiles mutters, feeling a weird urge to clap his hands over his neck again as it'd somehow make them go away.

"Your neck isn't something I find myself looking at a lot," Lydia snorts as she grabs the door handle. "I'm still marvelling over the fact that you have muscles."

"I feel like I should be offended by that," Stiles admits honestly, making Lydia give a sound of amusement as she looks at Stiles.

"Perhaps it's best you have a shower while I get my make-up bag, and try to fix, _that_ ," she gestures at his neck.

 _That_ can hold a lot of meaning, and if anything right now needs to be referred to as _that_ , then it's Stiles' neck.

"Right," Stiles says, somewhat weakly, wondering if love bites made by werewolves would prove resistant to the wonders of make-up.

"Shower," Lydia orders sternly as she opens the door, and Stiles does as he is told.

 _If any werewolf in the world could leave make-up resistant love bites, then it'd be Derek Hale_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he belatedly remembers to shut the bathroom door after kicking off the sweatpants—he isn't sure if they are his or Derek's.

Stiles is also fairly certain that Derek isn't going to be impressed by Stiles covering the marks covering his throat. Hell, in some places, Derek's made them overlap!

 _Well, let’s put it this way_ , Stiles tries to cheer himself up as he turns the shower on, deciding not to bother to wait to see if the shower needs to warm up—it doesn't, something he puts down to Peter paying a ridiculous amount of money for showers that actually start off warm instead of cold. _At least this will let everyone know that yes, that amazingly hot guy that's been picking me up and dropping me off is my boyfriend._

.......Which will be another reason for them all to stare and whisper about him.

"I'm doomed," Stiles mourns as he gives himself a quick, but thorough wash.

He was going to become that guy who had crazy sex with their super-hot boyfriend.

Honestly, it didn’t sound as bad as he thought about it for longer. But man, he really didn’t want to have to handle having people ask him weird questions and what not.

Sighing, Stiles scrubs at his hair, not bothered with trying to scrub his skin raw as he likes the idea of still smelling like Derek.

He does everything quickly so Lydia can have more time to cover up the mess on his throat.

Looking at the mirror, Stiles pauses and touches at the bruises, a soft hiss leaving his mouth when he feels the slight pain from the touch.

“Geez Derek, next time you’re gonna have to go a little easier,” Stiles says more to himself before finishing pull on his clothes and then leaving to sit on the bed.

* * *

Lydia comes into the room with a flourish and two different make up bags in her hand that has Stiles shifting a little.

He’s never had makeup on him before so this will be a first.

“Just, try to stick to covering up my neck and not my whole face,” he reminds her, only to get a mischievous smirk back.

"You sure?" Lydia asks with that mischievous looking smirk on her face as she takes in the simple plain navy slim-fit t-shirt that shows of the muscles of Stiles' arms, and the dark blue of his fitted jeans that makes the flash of electric blue of his nails stand out more starkly. "You pull off blue rather well, maybe some eyeliner to make your Bambi eyes bigger, and brush of blue on the lids to bring your whole colour scheme together."

Stiles splutters, not knowing which part to object or say something about first as Lydia simply began to pull out her bottles of foundation with an amused quirk to her glossed lips.

"I don't have _Bambi eyes_!" Stiles finally protests as Lydia takes his hand to smear some of the foundation to begin the process of trying to match the foundation to Stiles' fair skin tone. "Allison has _Bambi eyes_! She's basically a Disney Princess complete with horrible family, but loving father!"

"You both have big brown eyes," Lydia disagrees as she mixes her foundations with a slightly frown, trying to get the correct tone, and lifting Stiles' hand next to the less bruised section of his neck to judge. "Though in certain lights, and certainly when you are doing magic, they are more amber gold than anything."

"Oh, so you can pay attention to my eyes, but not my mauled neck?" Stiles snarks, and Lydia's lips twitch at his put-out voice.

“Stiles, I could see the marks on your neck even when you were trying to cover them. Besides, did you already forget you walked into the kitchen practically shirtless earlier?”

Lydia’s smirk grows wider as the panic starts to form on Stiles’ face.

“Oh my god! Fuck! Oh god, everyone just saw my neck. Uuugh, I’m an idiot,” Stiles shakes his head, letting his face drop into his hands as he shook his head in disappointment at himself.

“It’s alright, Bambi. I’m sure nobody thought Derek tried to choke you to death last night,” Lydia pulls out her best concealer and makes sure it matches Stiles’ skin before putting it on.

“Ha-ha. You’re hilarious,” Stiles tells her in a deadpan voice.

"I suppose it's a good thing Scott slept in," Lydia muses because if anyone was going to think the worse of Derek due to bruises, it would Scott.

Stiles grimaces his agreement, staying still as Lydia covers his neck with cool liquid concealer and foundation.

"You do realise you'll sweat this off during Lacrosse practise, right?" Lydia tells him, carefully making sure to cover everything without making it obvious to anyone outside the Pack that Stiles is wearing make-up.

"Fuck," Stiles simply states, and Lydia almost laughs at the completely defeated tone.

* * *

So, good news and bad news.

Good news, Lydia is a miracle worker, and his neck doesn't look like his overgrown puppy of a boyfriend decided to use his neck as a chew-toy.

Bad news, Stiles is _convinced_ , despite Lydia's eyerolls and comments, that he can feel the make-up thick on his neck, and he will have to resist the urge to rub and scratch at his neck all day.

Unsurprising, Peter's lips twitch in amusement as Stiles comes back in the kitchen with his backpack, ready to grab his lunch, and Stiles knew the asshole hoped Stiles hadn't realised just how enthusiastic Derek had been in marking up his neck.

"You are an asshole," Stiles informs his Alpha brightly, and Peter beams as he holds out Stiles' lunchbox, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved V-neck deep red top.

"Thank you," Peter says as if Stiles just gave him the greatest compliment, and he smirks as he watches Stiles put the lunchbox in his backpack, zipping it up, and throwing it over his shoulder with a glare to his Alpha. "Derek, I think Stiles is going to borrow your jacket, won't you get it for him?"

Stiles stills, Peter hadn't raised his voice so that probably meant that Derek had been waiting to say goodbye in the living room before Stiles left for school, and that means that Derek will see that Stiles had covered up his marks, and the make-up meant that Stiles couldn't let him scent mark his throat like normal.

Fuck.

Knowing that he was going to have to face the inevitable, Stiles walks out of the kitchen and to the living room. Where Derek and Scott are clearly having a glaring match, with Jackson throwing in his own glare at Scott every once in a while.

Clearly there’s an invisible werewolf only line that the three of them can notice, since Scott is on one side of the room and Derek and Jackson are on the other.

“Seriously guys. Can we not do this on a Monday, and right before school?” Stiles sighs, feeling a little irritated by the werewolves antics.

Scott opens his mouth, Jackson growls at him which has Derek growling as well. And in turn has Scott snark at the two of them.

“ _Boys_ ,” Peter chides, flashing red eyes and immediately having the three of them stepping down.

“Whatever, let’s just get to class so I don’t have to see this asshole’s face anymore,” Jackson scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest before looking over at Stiles.

“Fuck you, Jackson,” Scott snaps back.

Derek ignored them both, his eyes zoning in onto Stiles’ neck where his marks have been covered up.

“Is that make-up?” he jumps over the couch to stand in front of his mate, tugging on Stiles’ shirt so he can scent his throat.

"Yeah," Stiles says as he captures Derek's hand before the werewolf can smudge Lydia's work, and make it extremely obvious that he's hiding something. "It seems someone is very enthusiastic when leaving marks."

Derek doesn't look guilty, or even try to look innocent. No, instead Derek is staring at Stiles' neck with an offended look on his face, his lips caught between creating a scowl of displeased offence and a pout of disappointment.

Really, Stiles shouldn't find it adorable, he shouldn't want to coo at his very unhappy werewolf boyfriend, but there is something really adorable about the way Derek's bottom lip sticks out for a moment before turning into a scowl only to melt back into a pout.

"I don't like it," Derek tells him without looking up from almost glaring at Stiles' flawless looking throat, even Stiles' moles have been covered up!

Scott scoffs in the background, showing how he feels about the idea of Derek not liking something, and Stiles quickly speaks before Scott could say anything.

"Dude, it looked like you've been using my neck as a chew toy," Stiles points out, deciding not to bring up the bite marks Stiles found on his chest when in the shower.

"Don't call me dude," Derek says in something that can only be called a sulky tone, bottom lip turning back into a pout, and really, the fact Stiles resisted this long is a miracle.

Stiles leans up slightly, taking Derek's pouty bottom lip between his, and bites gently. Derek's hand drops from the collar of Stiles' t-shirt, falling to Stiles' hip and pulling him close, and he shifts his other hand, so Stiles is actually holding his hand instead of his wrist, and Derek gives a slight groan as he kisses Stiles' back.

"You know," Lydia says to Allison in a musing tone. "We could probably set up a site with photos, videos and gifs of them making out and things, I'm sure people would pay for more erotic images and such."

“Well, you’d have to wait until Stiles turns 18 because then it would be child porn,” Peter points out, wiping his hands on his pants as he watches the kids get ready to leave.

“Hmmm, well then I guess Danny will have two months to work on a website.”

“I’m not doing porn,” Stiles rolls his eyes at the redhead.

Derek chuckles and catches another kiss from his mate before finally letting go, not wanting to take too much time out of his mate’s time.

“I’ll see you after school,” Derek grins, nosing a little at Stiles’ hair just to make a little messy.

“Rude,” Stiles huffs and fixes his hair up while Derek snorts and takes a step back. “Anyways, I’ll see you later, Der.”

Stiles brushes a kiss against Derek's bearded cheek before moving to grab Derek's leather jacket from the coat hooks, smiling at the look Derek gives him as Stiles slips on the jacket.

Something possessive, a claim that couldn't be covered up by make-up, and any lingering disappointment at Stiles covering his marks is eased by Stiles wearing his jacket, and thus his scent.

"We'll drop you off," Chris says as he grabs his own jacket, Scott side-eyeing the man due to the gun holster is wearing, and Peter rolls his eyes at his mate.

"Allison will be with us," Lydia says without a hint of hesitation, curling her arm around Allison's.

"McCall is not going in my car," Jackson says firmly, and Scott glares at Jackson, looking ready to argue.

"Chris' car can fit your bike," Peter says to Scott. "It's better this way, I assume you brought your bike?"

Scott nods, not saying that Melissa had packed his bike in the back of the car before driving Scott over to the apartment building as if she had been certain he wouldn't actually go to Peter's if she didn't drive him herself.

She had even walked him to the outside bike rack, watched him chain up his bike, and then watched him enter the building, the security guard using his key to send Scott up to Peter's penthouse before she left.

Scott is still angry that Peter told his mom, and even more angry that his mom didn't seem as angry on his behalf as she should be considering how Peter ruined his life, and how little trust his mom seems to hold him in now.

"I'll join you," Stiles offers as he looks at Peter, Jackson's lips turn down in a scowl, and Derek's shoulders tighten, but Stiles can't just leave Scott alone with the awkwardness he's probably feeling, and something that would no doubt be worst trapped in the car with the two older men.

Derek hesitates, torn.

On the one hand, Derek still has a _lot_ of working out to make up for. On the other? An omega so close to his mate makes his hackles rise defensively.

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles brushed his lips to Derek’s cheek once more before hiking up his backpack and leaving with the others.

Watching as they go until the door clicks shit, Derek blows air through his nostrils before finally moving. He goes back to the gym first, deciding he was going to work out for another hour.

* * *

Stiles laughs as Peter keeps teasing Chris and playing coy with the hunter on the car ride to school.

“You’re both ridiculous, you know that,” Stiles laughs, watching as Chris smacks Peter’s hand away from the radio.

“Ridiculous? Don’t be rude, Stiles. I’m the handsome one, Chris is the one being ridiculous,” Peter answers, attempting to change the radio station only to get his hand slapped _again_. “Dearest, you do realize you’re annoy an Alpha werewolf right? I do bite.”

“Mh-hmm, and you do realize I don’t care either way. And you’re not allowed to change the station,” Chris tells him.

Peter sighs, slouching back in his seat, “My own husband, abusing me.”

"You haven't even asked me to marry you yet," Chris reminds Peter mildly.

The only reason Chris hasn't started making his own plans is because Peter already said he had a plan.

It was surprisingly hard for Chris to resist planning something, to stop himself from browsing for rings or something. He supposes that part of him wants to part of a proposal, to propose to Peter like he once thought he never would be able to.

Chris hadn't proposed to Victoria.

No, Chris had returned to from a hunt, and his father presented Victoria as his fiancée.

Any thoughts of arguing against the match died when Gerard had shown him a picture of Peter later when they were alone, of Chris kissing him goodbye that last time.

Chris hadn't been able to tear his eyes of the photo, his heart in his throat and blood rushing through his ears as Gerard told him a matter-of-fact tone just what Gerard would do to Peter if Chris refused this match.

Chris didn't refuse, and the wedding had been arranged around him.

He knows it'll be different this time.

He'll be marrying Peter! The man he's loved since he was twenty-years-old, the man he had always regretted leaving, the man he'd never be able to forget, the man that despite _everything_ still loved him.

"Ah," Peter blinks before frowning thoughtfully. "I knew I was forgetting something."

"How do you forget a _proposal_?" Stiles demands in disbelief, leaning forward between their seats, so he can give Peter a look on judgement. "It's a proposal!"

"In case you haven't noticed, Stiles," Peter begins to answer in a dry tone as Chris pulls into the school's parking lot. "Things have been rather busy and problematic."

That makes Stiles pause slightly.

Okay, Stiles could see Peter's point a bit with the murders—shit, he hadn't even thought about Harris once, and _Stiles_ is the asshole that once said it'd serve Harris right to be killed, but not even Harris deserved _that_ —and Crazy Kate.

“Exactly,” Peter points out as Stiles sits there thinking about everything going on.

Scott sat silently in the back watching as Stiles acted around Peter like he’s know the guy his whole life. A part of him feels that deep, wrenching envy in his gut as he watched the easy way Stiles smiled and laughed, like he was free from any pain in the past. Scott wanted that back.

He hadn’t realized how lonely life was without his best—without his friend.

Stiles laughed at another thing Peter said, even _Chris_ laughed, and Scott had never seen that man laugh before.

“Okay, kiddos, it looks like we’ve arrived at our destination. Remember to be careful and stay in pairs while that evil bitch is lurking about. Chris and I are going to go visit your father first and then do a few other things,” Peter says, more to Stiles than to Scott.

_Evil bitch? What was the Alpha talking about??_

“Try and keep out of danger, Peter. I know you’re itching to tear some hunters apart, but at least try and contain yourself,” Stiles snarks back at the werewolf.

“For you, I’ll try,” Peter chuckles.

The weirdest thing? Peter actually seems to mean it, which Scott didn't know what to make of.

"That's all I'm asking," Stiles says as Chris keeps the engine idling, reaching to squeeze Peter's shoulder. "See you later, come on Scott. I'll help you get your bike out the back."

"Remember the amulet, Scott," Peter tells the other werewolf, and Scott slips his hand in his pocket to check the amulet is still there. "I'd keep that hidden if I was you, it has our Pack symbol on it, and I'd hate for you to get caught up with the Hunters crawling all over the town."

"But I haven't done anything," Scott objects, Stiles gives him a look of disbelieving sympathy before pushing open the door, and Peter snorts bitterly.

"We never do, but they don't care," Peter says in a bitter tone, and Chris reaches for his mate's hand. "Go, keep safe."

Scott slips out the car, and goes to help Stiles remove his bike from the trunk, his mind spinning.

“I’ll see you later, Scott,” Stiles gives him a wave and a smile before walking towards the front of the school.

Scott remembers when Stiles would always call him Scotty, now it seems like that was years ago. The easy way Stiles dismisses him has Scott blink and then glancing down at his bike before moving to put it in the bike rack.

* * *

Stiles smiles as he catches up with Allison. Jackson and Lydia having left to get to their classes and Allison stood by the side waiting for Stiles since they had the same class got first period.

“Have fun riding in the car with my dad and Peter?” she snickers as Stiles approaches her.

He rolls his eyes, “Oh yeah, it was the _worst_. I don’t know how you can stand those two.”

Allison laughs and shakes her head as they keep walking, “I’m glad they aren’t fight like my mom used to do with my dad. That was the worst.”

Stiles makes a face, not wanting to know what those fights were about, and deciding not to comment on it.

"You know, I'm surprised they haven't gotten in any fights," Stiles admits with a twist of his mouth.

Considering their history, the trauma and hurts both went through, Stiles would have thought they would have some fights. But apart from the first night, which had been more emotional breakdowns than anything, they hadn't seemed to have any fights.

Something Stiles doesn't know is a good thing or not, because surely they should have some little fights as they slip back into being a couple?

"They are in the honeymoon period," Allison shrugs as they head to their lockers. "Sooner or later, something will set them off, and they'll have some little fight or something."

"You seem sure of this," Stiles says as he opens his locker, and he exchanges his books.

"I have relationship experience," Allison reminds him, making Stiles nod in thoughtfully as he closes the locker.

"True," Stiles turns as he says this, completely unashamed with his lack of experience with relationships.

Part of him, Stiles supposes, should be self-conscious about the lack of experience considering he's in his first relationship, and to a man that's basically his soul mate. But Stiles doesn't really feel self-conscious about that, probably because Derek doesn't seem to have much more experience than him.

Something, Stiles will admit to himself, somewhat worries him considering that it's obvious that Derek has a lot more sexual experience, but he seems insecure about romantic relationships, which Stiles thinks doesn't say good things about Derek's sexual experience.

Of course, Stiles is probably overthinking things. Derek probably just resolved to have one-night stands after the fuck-up experience of his 'relationship'—and Stiles hates to consider what Derek went through as a relationship—with Psycho Kate Argent.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Stiles tries to push back the thoughts going through his head.

He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions about what Derek did in his life. When Derek is ready to talk about it then they’ll talk, and until then Stiles will just learn to be patient.

Stepping into class, Stiles prepares himself for another _hopefully_ boring day of school.

* * *

“Do you think they’ll be safe?” Peter asks, trying for something nonchalant and probably not hitting the mark.

“Peter, are you mothering a bunch of teenagers?” Chris feels a smirk twitch on his lips.

“Maybe. So what about it. I _am_ the Alpha after all, and a mother first. I think I’m allowed to worry over my pups. My sweet pups...who we left in the arms of hunters—you know what, let’s just turn around and pick them up. And say they got a cold.”

“Oh no you don’t, we have a meeting with the sheriff and discuss the next steps to deal with Kate. Peter, love—I promise they’re going to be fine,” Chris tries to soothe his mate.

"A cold wouldn't be enough to take them out of school," Peter frets slightly to himself. "The flu is better."

"You do realise that you aren't the guardian of two of them?" Chris asks, not going to mention that Peter's not really the guardian of Allison or Stiles either. "Peter, they'll be fine. They are at school."

"Derek was at school too, and that didn't matter to your sister," Peter snaps, and Chris flinches making Peter closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry it's just they are my pups, and I don't want another hunter to hurt them like Derek had been hurt. I know Jennifer, Chris, and she's already got her sight set on Stiles, and I'm afraid what she would do to him."

"I know," Chris reaches over to take one of Peter's hands, stroking the back of it with his thumb. "I'm sorry if you think I'm not taking this seriously. But they know there's a threat in the school, they are smart, and you know they won't let her near them. We'll talk to Noah about her, about getting her out of the school."

Peter nods, squeezing Chris' hand.

Out of all the Hunters in town, including Kate, it is Jennifer that actually scares Peter, and that enrages him.

He's an Alpha now, he has a Pack, he shouldn't be scared of _anything._

But the thought of Jennifer made him think of her cold eyes staring down at him, of the burn of wolfsbane smeared into his burns, the feel of the poison racing through his veins and heading to his heart, of men grunting and saying such horrible things to him as they _raped_ him while she watched and counted her money.

Kate may have burned him, but Jennifer had tortured him for six years, she had arranged for him to be raped repeatedly, and she had watched it happen while making sure he saw her count her money.

The thought of his pups being around her, of her setting her sight of Stiles, of what she could do to them, it makes Peter's blood run cold.

Sensing his mate’s rising panic, Chris takes Peter’s hand in his own and gives it a squeeze.

“Breathe, Peter. Just take some deep breaths, okay? Good, good,” Chris only cringes a little bit when Peter squeezes his hand a little too hard, but doesn’t tell the man to stop.

“Okay, okay. I think I’m good now,” Peter runs a hand down his face as they pull into the parking lot of the police station.

A part of him immediately has the urge to run when he sees the station, the place was filled with both good and very bad memories. None that could compare to when he had to walk past his room at the hospital again.

“Remember, if you ever need a break you take one,” Chris reminds his mate, giving Peter one more squeeze before they both exit the car together.

Wiping his hands on the front of his pants, Peter takes the lead as they enter the police station, giving a charming smile to the receptionist as they enter.

“Hello dear, I’m here to have a meeting with the Sheriff. It’s about some family matters going on,” he grins.

There's a sympathy twist to the receptionist's returning smile, "Of course, let me phone through."

"Of course," Peter says smoothly, expanding his hearing to Noah's office.

Two heartbeats, the sound of shuffling papers, the clatter of the keyboard, a pen scribbling notes.

 _"David is going to love me today,"_ Peter hears Noah mutter sarcastically before the phone rings, and Peter dials his hearing back, not needing to extend when the receptionist is right in front of him, and he doesn't need to deal with hearing the words being spoken twice.

"Go right on through, Mr Hale," the receptionist smiles as she hangs up the phone, and Peter smiles back as he slips his hand in Chris', and they walk to Noah's office.

"I'm going to have to call the FBI," Noah announces, sounding long suffering, as soon as they enter, the door barely shut behind them. "Even if I just charge Kate Argent with just the crimes here, there's at least a dozen people in key departments and offices that need to be arrested due to their connections to the Argent family. And frankly, Kate Argent's other victims should have justice too."

Chris stiffens, not knowing how the FBI would look at him despite Chris willing to offer all the information he has on his family, and Peter cocks his head to the side.

"You don't sound happy about that," Peter points out as Jordan shifts some boxes and files off the other two chairs in the room for them to take.

"The Agent assigned to Beacon County is Rafael McCall," Noah rubs a hand over his mouth, not that it hides the grimace twisting his lips.

"I'm guessing he is related to Scott?" Peter asks as he takes one of the chairs with Chris taking the other, blank face and smelling of something close to fear.

Peter wants to reassure his mate, but he doesn't know what set off this reaction in him apart from the mention of FBI, and he just keeps holding Chris' hand, stroking his thumb across the back of Chris' hand.

“Yes, his father. He’s a man that’s coined himself the nickname Agent McAssface,” Noah tries to put lightly.

Peter doesn’t even try to hold back on the choking laughter that escapes him, before quieting down and giving Noah the go ahead.

“Trust me, the guys earned it,” Noah sighs, “It’s not going to be easy working with him, he’s going to have questions. A _lot_ of questions. We’ll need to work on our stories, so he doesn’t get suspicious and try to think somethings up.”

“Lying about what my family is comes like second nature to me,” Peter tells him.

“McCall is going to question you and Derek about this, Peter. Do you think Derek is even prepared to handle that type of situation?” Noah asks, knowing that Derek is a victim with severe trauma just like Peter is, but unlike Peter, Derek is more of an open wound than a closed one.

Peter goes quiet for a moment, “No. I don’t think he’ll handle someone pressuring him and asking about what happened very well. I’ll have to work on that with him.”

Noah nods, knowing how difficult it's going to be for both Peter and Derek to work on that, and knowing that Rafael isn't the most tactful or sympathetic agent around.

And that's without adding Rafael's own personal problems with Noah.

Both of them had turned to alcohol when things had gotten tough—Rafael after some tough cases, Noah after Claudia passed—and both hadn't been the best fathers because of it—truthfully, Noah still didn't consider himself a good father. But Rafael's drinking, and his attitude after drinking, had made Melissa kick him out while people had rallied around Noah, and helped him.

The close relationship between Noah and Melissa didn't help, and it also didn't help that Scott refuses to see Rafael while being close to Noah.

That all bred resentment and jealousy in the other man, and Rafael turned that into suspicion on how Noah does his job.

No doubt there will be questions on how Noah didn't notice this happening despite the fact that Noah hadn't been the Sheriff during the Hale attack, and that no one else had linked the multiple fires over the country apart from Peter—no doubt, Stiles would have got there too if it everything hadn't happened and stopped him from investigating.

Truthfully, Noah wishes he could get another Agent down here, but McCall is the Agent assigned to Beacon County, and there's nothing he can do about that.

"I'm going to have a meeting with David Whittemore this morning," Noah tells the couple in front of them, knowing that David isn't going to be impressed with the amount of work that Noah's going to dump on him, and he's also going to be pissed about the corruption going on. "Read him in to this clusterfuck."

"What do you think is going to happen to me?" Chris asks quietly.

Noah looks at Chris, and grimaces slightly.

"Honestly? I don't know, that's something I will be talking with David about," Noah tells him honestly. "Figure out an immunity deal before Rafael gets here."

Chris nods his head, and scratches at his chin as he thinks about everything Noah’s laid out for them.

It was a good thing he wasn’t in town around the time Kate was, but the Hunter can’t help but think about what would have happened if he was.

Could he have stopped Kate? Prevented her from meeting Derek and ruining his life, and stopped Peter from those horrible six years of coma.

Although, the thought was something like a double-sided blade, wasn’t it?

Because from what Chris knew, Peter’s life wasn’t even that good in the first place before the fire. And neither was Derek’s as the child was being neglected.

It made Chris wish he could have been there, before the fire, wish he could have grown a damn spine and taken Allison, Peter and Derek away. So far away.

“Is there anything else we need to discuss while we’re here?” Peter’s voice has Chris looking back up from his thoughts.

“Hm, not that I can think of. Unless you have any new information to add? No? I think we should be done.”

Peter nods his head, “Yes, I would just like to state that Chris and I will be out in the Preserve most of the day looking for Malia. As well as trying to find any traps hunters might have left out for us.

But also, I’m aware that there might be some misleading “animal” deaths that pop up in the news. And I want you to know anything like that or involving human death is none of us.”

"I know," Noah tells them simply before something like a grimly satisfied smirk curls his lips. "If anyone is being thought of as being involved, it's Victoria Argent."

"What?" Chris blurts out in disbelief, and Peter laughs.

"Do you know how many phone calls and drop ins I've had to deal with since her confrontation with you?" Noah demands of Peter, glaring without heat at the younger man. "All of them saying I should look into Victoria Argent concerning at least Harris' murder, and perhaps the animal attacks aren't animal attacks, and where was Victoria Argent when these men were killed? Did you know she threatened her ex-husband _and_ Peter Hale? After accusing poor Peter Hale of murder?"

Peter shakes with his laughter, laughing so hard that he's only making wheezing noises as he bends over while Chris rubs a hand over his scruff in disbelief.

"I think I've met most of the town by taking their statements about what happened," Jordan adds dryly, the first thing he's said in the meeting.

"You've made my day," Peter wheezes out, clutching at Chris' hand. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you found it amusing," Noah says dryly, watching as Peter wipes at the tears brimming in his eyes due to laughter.

“Of course I find the fact that half the town is convinced Victoria is a psychopathic murderer hilarious. Not that it’s a lie,” Peter wipes away a fake tear. “You know what they say about karma.”

“Well, let’s just hope that’s not all that’s coming her way,” Noah remarks, leaning back in his seat as he glances down at the files on his desk. “Alright, I guess that means we can finish this meeting on a light note. I’ll call David, and then see about what I can get with everything we have on hand.”

“Of course. And thank you for your time Noah,” Peter nods his head to the sheriff, then turns to nod his head to nod at Jordan. “Jordan. I hope you both have a wonderful day.”

Noah snorts, doubting it's going to be wonderful considering what he's dropping into David Whittemore's lap, and knowing at some point today he'll have to call the FBI.

It's probably going to be stressful, and he'll definitely need a beer or two tonight to unwind—something that would have Stiles watching him worriedly if he still lived primarily with him, and hadn't basically moved in with Derek and Peter.

"Be careful," Noah says before pausing. "Could you document any traps you do find? Trapping in itself is illegal in the Preserve, and no doubt the traps will obviously be for prey bigger than a couple of rabbits."

"Of course," Peter says as he stands, his hand still in Chris' so the older man rises with him. "I'll be happy to help the Sheriff's Department to hunt down these illegal trappers."

Noah rolls his eyes at Peter.

"Get," Noah tells him, pulling a notebook close to start writing down the key-points he has to raise with David.

"I know you say that with love," Peter says dramatically, winking at Jordan who ducks his head with a grin.

"Come on," Chris tugs on his mate's hand, knowing Peter could burst into a melodramatic speech if Chris gave him a chance.

* * *

Jackson thinks he could have gone his whole life without knowing just how much Beacon High _stinks._

It's a mess of teenage hormones, OB, the scent of whatever the cafeteria serves for lunch, and the conflicting scents of perfume, aftershave and such that makes Jackson's nose wrinkle as he walks through the busy halls.

He should be heading to his first class with Lydia, but he wanted to catch up with Danny, and Lydia had waved him off without a word.

He hopes that Danny isn't upset with not being invited to the long sleep over with Stiles, but it's not like Jackson could just explain that Peter Hale is his biological parent and a werewolf, and Jackson was hoping to become a werewolf too, and hey, Danny, you know all that crazy stuff happening recently? It's because of werewolves.

Jackson sighs, running a hand through his perfect hair as he figures out the perfect way to explain everything to Danny. Maybe he could just hide from his friend again or say he’s sick?

Of course, the decision gets made for him when Danny comes around the corner and punches his shoulder.

“Asshole! No text, no call, not even a memo. And you just up and disappear over the weekend,” Danny glares at him.

It’s such a juxtaposition to how the teenager usually is, with his easy smiles and hear warming laughter. And wow—did Danny always smell this good? Like really good.

 _Maybe it’s a new aftershave_ , Jackson thinks to himself, pulling himself back from his thoughts when he realizes Danny is still speaking.

“Sorry, I was having...an emergency family meeting,” Jackson fumbles for a moment before saying.

“Emergency family meeting,” Danny gives him an unimpressed look. “Seriously, Jackson.”

Jackson winces slightly.

It isn't technically a lie. Peter and Derek _are_ blood family, Chris and Allison are basically family due to Peter, Stiles is basically his brother-in-law, and Lydia has always been family to Jackson.

But Danny didn't know that, it must feel like Jackson's shutting him out on purpose.

"It's hard to explain," Jackson tells him, and Danny gives him another unimpressed look. "Look, I'm sorry I forgot to text or call. I was busy, but I should have made time to let you know."

Danny crosses his arms over his chest, still looking unimpressed.

"With your emergency family meeting," Danny says flatly. "A family meeting involving Lydia, but without your parents."

Jackson winces.

His mother and Danny's mother are good friends, and it would be stupid to think that his mother wouldn't have told Danny's mother about a sudden emergency family meeting.

"It's something to do with my bio family," Jackson tries to explain, and Danny's face goes blank, a sliver of hurt rippling through his scent, and Jackson has to bite back a whine as he steps closer.

"Something you've shared with Lydia, but not me," Danny's voice goes flatter, his jaw clenching as he looks away. "Does Stiles know too? Allison?"

Jackson doesn't say anything, can't say anything, and Danny shakes his head in pained disbelief.

"Unbelievable," Danny mutters, trying to sound angry instead of just hurt. "So I'm the only you've decided not to tell."

"Danny," Jackson reaches out, and Danny looks like he's going to punch him again, properly this time, and Jackson lets his arm drop before his hand makes contact. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like then?" Danny gives him a look. "Explain it to me."

"It's complicated," Jackson tries, and Danny scoffs, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Well, when it's not so complicated, you can figure out how to tell your supposed best friend," Danny says, turning to leave, and Jackson panics, reaching out to grab Danny's arm.

“Danny, please—just, just give me a moment to figure things out. I have to ask Peter first—“

“Peter? Who the fuck is Peter and why do you have to ask him for permission?” Danny turns a little to give Jackson a raised eyebrow.

“It’s just—it’s really hard to explain and there’s some family drama going on. And like—Allison’s dad is also like in a weird way my dad, and Allison’s my sister. Also like, I have an older brother—and everything’s just a fucking mess right now and hard to explain _alsoyousmellreallyreallygood_.”

Danny opens his mouth and then closes it, his head tilting to the side as he stares at his best friend with a strange expression.

“Have you been hanging around Stiles? You sound just like him.”

“Yes, he was there to—“

“Oh, so _Stiles_ can come but not me?” Danny’s scent goes thick with _jealousy_ and Jackson stares at him in confusion. “You know what, fine whatever. Don’t invite me to your little secret family get together. I don’t care.”

"Stiles is dating my older brother," Jackson blurts out, and Danny freezes in his attempt to shrug Jackson off. "That's why Stiles is there, he basically lives there, and he's already sickeningly in love with my brother."

Danny stares at him for a moment, almost hopefully, and the jealousy dies down to just a sliver in his scent.

"You mean tall, dark, and broodily handsome is your older brother?" Danny asks incredulously, giving Jackson a lingering once over that makes him want to preen. "I don't see it."

Jackson's jaw drops, "I can pull off dark and broody!"

Danny gives him a look that just screams his doubt, "Jackson, you can pull off the handsome bit. But the rest? You can't. Tall, dark and broody has the whole bad boy look that drives people wild."

There's a hint of arousal in Danny's scent as he talks about Derek, and Jackson growls deep in his throat as jealousy burns in him.

Jackson can cope with Derek taking Stiles, they are mates after all, and Jackson knew the minute that Stiles came back holding Derek's hand that he lost before he even got anywhere.

But Danny? _His_ Danny? No _fucking_ way!

"Jackson?"

"Mine," Jackson growls, tightening his grip on Danny's arm, and suddenly having this urge to get out of the crowded hallway, to somewhere where it's just him and Danny, alone.

Somewhere safe, somewhere that's Jackson's.

"What the fuck? Jackson? Your eyes!"

Jackson tugs, pulling Danny after him as he stalks through the hallways, the crowds parting for him.

"When did you get a _murder stalk_? Jackson?"

The locker room is where Jackson rules, from there to the pitch, and thus the school, so it's no surprise that Jackson's feet lead him there, almost dragging Danny along, and deaf to the meaning to Danny's words.

All he can think about is reminding Danny that he is _his_ , that Derek has his own mate, and Danny is and always will be _Jackson's_. Not Derek's, _Jackson's!_

“Mine. _Mine_ ,” Jackson snarls, pushing Danny further into the locker room.

“Not that I’m against the whole ‘mine’ thing, but can you please explain the fact your eyes are glowing gold—Oh my god! Jackson, you’re face! What the fu—“

Jackson presses Danny up against the lockers and attacks the teenager’s lips with his own. He groans when Danny goes still underneath him only to melt and lean into the kiss.

“You’re mine,” Jackson snarls through sharp teeth.

“Yeah-yeah. Whatever you want Jack—oh my god, your mouth,” Danny moans as Jackson starts to suck bruises into his neck. “Holy shit, I didn’t even—even know you were gay. _Fuck_ , Jackson.”

Danny almost bangs his head back against the lockers as Jackson sucks more bruises into his neck, dragging sharp teeth against the thin skin covering his neck.

His mind is spinning, there's something wrong with his best friend, and yet it's hard to think about it or even mind when Jackson's lips are against his neck, and then Jackson's hot hands slip under his t-shirt, exploring his chest.

"Fuck," Danny repeats, fisting at Jackson's new leather jacket.

"Mine," Jackson actually rumbles, pulling away to look at the blossoming bruises on Danny's neck with approval, and then he is kissing Danny again, hungrily and possessively, and whatever reasoning Danny had grabbed hold of disappeared south with the rest of his blood as Jackson plasters his body against Danny's, and he can feel how hard his best friend is. "Want you, need you, mine, mine _, mine_."

There's several reasons why Danny should say no, several pressing reasons.

Like the fact that Jackson is with Lydia, like the fact Danny has been flirting with a boy that he's pretty sure was going to ask him out today, like the fact they are in school, like the fact he hadn't even known Jackson liked him like _this_ considering Jackson's been mooning over Stiles for years.

But all those reasons seem to slip away when Jackson's hands—hot hands, had Jackson always been this hot? Danny thinks he would have noticed if his best friend was a living furnace before _this_ —trail down his chest and to the front of his jeans.

It's a scramble, Danny's hands shaking as they undo Jackson's jeans, and Jackson's fumbling with what looks like claws growing and retreating over his normal nails as he impatiently undoes Danny's jeans.

And that should freak Danny out, perhaps it does freak part of him out, but Jackson's lips are on his, kissing him hungrily and possessively, and Danny's hands slip down the back of Jackson's undone jeans, and cups his best friend's ass through his boxers, squeezing the firm muscle almost questioningly.

It’s almost like a dream come true in a way.

He’s always had a bit of a crush on Jackson, since they were little, but outside things had always gotten in the way of that; first Stiles, then the fact Jackson had some internal homophobia going on because of not wanting to disappointment his parents, and then there was Lydia.

But now—now Danny wasn’t too sure if the whole “dating Lydia” thing was even true or if it was a cover up.

Maybe this entire time Jackson was just faking being straight, attempting to hide his crush on Stiles. Not that Danny wanted the two of them getting together, the fire of jealousy that that was who Jackson decided to have a crush on made Danny push back harder against Jackson.

He squeezes Jackson’s ass once before moving his hand to the front so he could press the heel of his hand against Jackson’s hard erection.

Jackson whines into the kiss, hitching his hips forward and pressing his cock harder against Danny's hand, and then his hands are tugging at Danny's t-shirt hem, trying to push it up.

Danny doesn't want to separate, doesn't want the dream to collapse around him, but the idea of touching Jackson's bare skin, of having him pressed against him, it's too much to resist.

Danny breaks the kiss, hands moving to push Jackson's leather jacket off his shoulders, and Jackson tugs up his t-shirt, and Danny ducks out of it.

The leather jacket and t-shirt land on the floor, and Jackson moves to kiss at Danny's neck as Danny impatiently unbuttons Jackson's shirt while their jeans slip down their thighs slightly.

"Want you in me," Jackson confesses against his neck making Danny curse as he fumbles with the buttons. " _Need_ you in me, please, _please_ , Danny."

There's a condom and a one-time packet of lube in his wallet, Danny knows as he keeps them there for when he goes to Jungle. A just in case measure, in case someone catches his eye, and he wants something more than a dance that night.

Danny yanks the shirt down Jackson's arms, throwing it to the floor without a care, and he grabs the back of Jackson's neck with one hand while gripping one hip with the other, and he flips them.

Jackson hisses at the cold feel of the metal against his heated skin, the press of metal unyielding against his back as Danny's thumb presses against his throat, and the taller teen is kissing him, pressing him further back against the lockers as Danny takes control of the kiss.

Reason had been thrown out the moment Jackson smelled Danny's arousal when talking about Derek, and any hopes of it returning, of him regaining control, left when Danny kissed back, and the air quickly filled with both of their arousal.

Reason means nothing against instinct, against the instinct that has him arching to press closer to his mate, to bare his throat and let his mate dominate him.

Danny would like more than anything to fuck Jackson right then and there—he may or may not have fantasized about fucking the lacrosse captain in the locker room. However, with the way Jackson was acting like he was on drugs or something, and Danny didn’t want the first time he fucked Jackson to be while the other teen was losing his mind. Was that crossing the line of consent? Was this illegal?

Danny didn’t even know. His mind going back and forth as he tried to manhandle Jackson to hold still.

“Lemme just—fuck, Jackson, quit fucking squirming,” Danny huffs, pulling the blonde’s underwear down so he can jerk him off.

“Danny! Fuck, fuck— _fuuuck_ ,” Jackson groans, squirming a little in Danny’s hands before going slack as the teen squeezes his cock.

“Yeah, bet that feels good. Doesn’t it, Jax?” Danny smirks as he keeps his hand at a fast pace, wanting to watch the blonde squirm until he comes.

And squirm he does.

Squirming, moaning, and whining, fuck Jackson was a mess and Danny couldn’t help but drool at the sight of seeing the other teen come undone by his hand.

“I’m close,” Jackson whines.

Jackson's head drops forward, mouthing worrying at the left side of Danny's neck as his hips move restlessly into Danny's grip.

"That's good," Danny closes his eyes, trying to keep control of himself as one of Jackson's hands grip his hip and the other curls around one of Danny's bicep. "I want you to cum for me, Jax."

Jackson whines against Danny's throat, and Danny almost stops as on a downward stroke to the base of Jackson's cock, he begins to feel something swelling under his grip, but Jackson is whimpering against his neck, his hips moving as he fucks himself into Danny's grip, and Danny knows it's rude to blurt out something like 'what the fuck is wrong with your dick?' when someone is this close to cumming.

"Cum, Jax," Danny commands as the swelling he keeps feeling gets bigger and bigger, and Danny's really starting to get concerned when Jackson gives an aborted whine that ends with Jackson biting down where Danny's neck joins his shoulder with those too sharp teeth of his. " _Fuck!_ "

There's pain, of course there's pain as Jackson's honest-to-god fangs break through skin, but there's also some type of pleasure to it that goes straight to his cock, and as Jackson spills into Danny's hand, Danny finds himself cumming into his boxers due to his best friend _biting_ him.

They are slumped together, leaning back against the lockers with their jeans around their knees, and Jackson's boxers half-way down his thighs. Jackson's cock is heavy, still hard, in his hand and with a firm swollen area near the base of it, and Jackson's teeth are still buried in Danny's neck/shoulder, and Danny's boxers are sticking to him due to cum.

Danny is panting, free hand squeezing Jackson's bare hip, and trying to make sense of what just happened, to the weird swelling that reminds Danny too much of knots from _fanfiction_ for his sanity, and still marvelling that _this_ is real when Jackson stiffens against him, hands flexing against his hip and bicep.

The drug must have worn off.

“Shit—Danny, you weren’t supposed to find out like this,” Jackson steps back and starts to shove himself back into his pants, wincing at how weirdly sensitive his dick is.

“Find out what? That you have a growth on your dick? Jackson, it’s cool. But you might want to see a doctor about it,” Danny says easily.

“What!? No—we’re discussing that later. No, what I meant is that I’m a werewolf,” Jackson says.

“A wh—oh. Huh, I guess that explains the claws and glowing eyes,” Danny scratches at his chin, “So does that mean you have a knot now?”

“A what?”

“A knot.”

“What the fuck is that? Is that some type of skin disease?”

Danny laughs, “No, you idiot. It’s the thing dogs do when they mate, it happens to the male’s dick.”

“ _WHAT!?_ My dick!!? Hold on, I need to make a call,” Jackson pulls his phone out and immediately dials a number.

* * *

Derek growls as he hears his phone go off.

He _was_ enjoying a peaceful nap curled up against the pillow Stiles was sleeping on earlier, naked since he came from a shower and then fell onto the bed.

He rubs his cheek against the pillow, wanting to soak in his mate’s scent before growling once more when his phone keeps ringing.

Snatching it up, Derek rolls his eyes when he sees its Jackson and then picks up, “ _What_.”

"I have a growth on my dick!!" Jackson says almost hysterically through the phone, and Derek blinks. "Is it a knot? Why do I have a knot?!"

"Mom told you about this," Derek points out, wondering why he is the one having to deal with this. "Born werewolves have knots, helps with breeding apparently."

Derek frowns slightly as he realise Jackson's at school, and shouldn't be popping a knot out of nowhere.

"What the hell are you doing?" Derek demands of his younger brother. "You're at _school_ , why the hell would you be knotting in school?"

"So, the growth—the knot—it's normal?" Jackson demands, ignoring his brother's question.

"For born werewolves, yes," Derek rubs at his growing beard. "You only knot with either your mate or a partner you truly trust. Again, what the hell are you doing?"

"It'll go away, right?" Jackson asks, again ignoring Derek.

"Of course," Derek wants to shake his head, of course it goes away. "It depends on how much simulation you give it, if you ignore it? It'll go away in about five or ten minutes? If you continue to simulation it? Can be up to thirty minutes, or until your body decides it's had enough."

Derek hesitates a moment before asking, because he knows of only one way Jackson could experience his first knot, "You did use a condom, right? If you can knot, then you can get pregnant."

"We didn't do _that_ ," Jackson says, sounding almost embarrassed. "I'm gay, I shouldn't have to worry about things like this."

 _"So, you are gay,"_ an unfamiliar male voice says in something like relief, and Derek decides he doesn't want to know.

"You're a werewolf, you got to worry about things like this," Derek reminds him. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I'm having a crisis, and you want to _sleep_?" Jackson demands in disbelief, and Derek rolls his eyes.

"It's perfectly normal," Derek reminds him.

"Perhaps for _you_ ," Jackson reminds him. "But I've only been a werewolf since the weekend! Forgive me for panicking when my dick swelled!"

Derek sighs and rubs at his face. Sure he was excited to have siblings again, but that was because he had forgotten how _annoying_ siblings were.

“Jackson, your dick is perfectly fine. Now please let me go back to my nap,” Derek growls.

“No! Dude, I’m literally having a panic attack right now. What if my knot forms weird and never goes down!? Oh I know, lemme send you a picture so then you can—“

“NO! I do **not** want to see pictures of your dick, Jackson. That’s it, I’m fucking hanging up. Do not call unless it’s an actual _emergency_ ,” Derek snarls, clicking the red button when he hears Jackson trying to talk again and then tosses the phone onto his desk.

“Fucking hell,” Derek grumbles, pulling the covers over himself and snuggling under the bed again.

When he hears another ping from his phone he feels like he’s about to tear someone’s throat out as he picks the device back up, only to pause when he sees it’s from Stiles.

**Stiles: I hope U are some food dude or else I’ll be upset**

Derek rolls his eyes at the fact Stiles types with incorrect grammar.

* * *

**Derek: Nap first, then food.**

_Short and to the point, just like Derek_ , Stiles thinks with a smile as he's about to tuck his phone away when it vibrates again, and Jackson's name appears on the screen.

**Jax: I attacked Danny! Help, I'm in the locker room!**

Stiles almost drops his phone in shock, staring in disbelief at the message.

"I need to go to toilets," Stiles almost shouts out, stuffing his stuff in his backpack, and speed walking out of the class before the teacher can stammer out any question.

The moment the classroom door shuts behind him, Stiles rushing down the hallways with his bag banging against his shoulder as he curses himself.

Stiles never thought Jackson would attack _Danny_! Sure, he thought Jackson may attack Scott, or hell, even _Greenburg._ But Danny? No way!

Oh god, they let him go back to school too soon! And now he's attacked _Danny!_

How badly had Danny been hurt? Was he bleeding? Oh god! What was Stiles about to walk into?

Visions of blood, of Danny cowering against the lockers, of Jackson freaking out with Danny's blood on his hands, all of that is going through Stiles' head as he slams open the door.

"Jackson, I— _OH MY GOD!_ WHY IS YOUR DICK HANGING OUT?" Stiles slaps a hand over his eyes, pressing back against the now closed door. "I thought you attacked Danny!"

"In a manner of speaking, he did," Danny's voice is calm and amused, obviously not bleeding out or freaking out, or anything like Stiles had been thinking.

“Please put your dick back in your pants, Jackson,” Stiles sighs, feeling ridiculous for even having to tell the blonde this.

“I can’t! It’s too sensitive, I fucking knotted and Derek didn’t even help me he just told me it’ll go down after a while,” Jackson exclaims, freaking out a little when his dick keeps leaking.

“Gross,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

“Shut up, and just help me fix this,” Jackson sounds like he’s about to scream and it makes Stiles snicker.

“I am not helping you with anything. Anyways, Derek’s right. It’ll go down after a while, so you should be fine until then. Um, the best thing I can think of is if you uh apply pressure on it. Like—squeeze your dick—this is a really uncomfortable conversation,” Stiles feels his cheeks going red with discomfort and embarrassment.

“How are you so sure?”

Stiles sighs and rolls his eyes, “Dude, I’ve had sex with Derek. I know what happens when werewolves knot.”

“Oh right, sorry. I forgot.”

Stiles keeps his gaze averted from Jackson, not wanting to see more than he already had, and that's when he sees Danny, and the bite mark the other teen is examining the still bloody bite mark.

"You _bit_ Danny?" Stiles demands, swirling to face Jackson, and letting out a little eep as he notices Jackson is leaning against the lockers with his eyes closed, teeth biting down on his lower lip to muffle any noise as he squeezes his knot. "Fuck sake!"

Stiles turns away against just as Jackson lets out a muffled whine, and stares at Danny with determination.

"Should I be worried about becoming a werewolf now?" Danny asks in a completely unconcerned tone of voice, jeans undone, a visible wetness to his grey boxers, topless, and with completely no shame.

"No, Jackson's a Beta," Stiles explains, trying to ignore the sounds Jackson is making, and the way Danny is obviously watching the blonde. "Only Alpha's can turn people."

Stiles is also trying to ignore the fact that he's now seen all three of the Hale's dicks, and just hopes he can skip seeing Peter's knot, so he's not again three for three.

Unfortunately, Stiles' brain can't help, but note that Derek is thicker than Jackson though they are about the same more than respectable size that is still shorter than Stiles', despite Stiles not wanting to know that fact.

"Mazel tov, by the way," Stiles says to Danny while ignoring the slick sound of skin on skin, and Jackson's muffled whimpers and whines.

“Oh, thanks,” Danny feels a little awkward, unsure how to go about this since he knows Jackson’s had a crush on Stiles for a long time, and said crush is standing in the locker room with his head turned away while Jackson stands in the showers and jerks off.

“Anyways, I’m going back to class, because I’m obviously not needed here. Don’t do anything stupid, Jackson,” Stiles says over his shoulder, blushing when he hears Jackson moan as he cums again.

“Werewolves,” he mutters under his breath as he enters his class again and settles in his seat, hoping he hasn’t missed any thing of true note.

* * *

Most of his classes go by quickly, especially when Derek wakes up from his nap and texts Stiles.

Stiles asks Derek to send him a picture of the man after he woke up from his nap which the werewolf does begrudgingly, and Stiles has to hide his face with the smile on there.

Derek, for some reason, seems to take to taking pictures instead of texting, sending photos of his grumpy face or of the kitchen when he’s making himself lunch.

Stiles loves it, loves how Derek figures out different ways to communicate with him.

He also really loves how his camera roll is getting filled with photos of Derek.

Stiles is smiling at the image Derek just sent of the sketch book and some sketch pencils—obviously borrowing the pencils from Peter—on their bed as he walks to the cafeteria when an arm loops in his, and the smell of green apples fills his nose.

"Lydia," Stiles greets, his voice going all high pitched as he finally realises the implication of finding Danny and Jackson together, in _that_ state, earlier.

Oh god, Jackson cheated on _Lydia_!

Sure, their relationship is built on them being beards for the other, but still!

Oh god! What is Stiles meant to do?

"Stiles," Lydia greets, green eyes peering up at him with a questioning glint as her genius brain obviously tries to work out what's wrong. "Has something happened?"

"Nope!" Stiles almost cringes at the overly bright tone he slips into, and Lydia's eyes narrow slightly on him. "Look! Derek's going to use one of my gifts!"

"That's sweet," Lydia does glance at the screen of Stiles' phone, a hint of a fond smile curling her lips, but she's all business when she turns back to him, studying him like she can see all his secrets. "Have you heard there's going to be a new student this week?"

"Two new students in one month?" Stiles asks in some disbelief as they enter the cafeteria, heading to their usual table. "That's odd, the last new kid in Beacon Hills was Scott."

And even then Scott hadn't been completely new as Melissa lived in Beacon Hills before her marriage and came back about a year before her divorce, so he counted more as a returning son of Beacon Hills than someone truly new.

Allison had been the first _new_ new kid, and now there is someone else coming? _That_ makes Stiles worry.

Now, don't get Stiles wrong. He loves Allison, she's one of his best friends, _and_ she's basically his sister-in-law, but her arrival kind of herald all the bad things to come.

So yeah, Stiles is probably going to give the new kid the side-eye, and wondering if they have a stake in the supernatural battleground that seems to be brewing under the surface.

“Stop that.”

Stiles jolts when Lydia smacks his arm, “What? I’m not doing anything.”

“You have that look on your face like you’re preparing for another World War. Stop it. It’s probably just a normal kid,” Lydia huffs, opening her lunch box so she can see what Peter has prepared for them all.

“I mean, come on. Aren’t you a little _suspicious_ about the fact that we have a new kid coming to school? Not even a little?”

“No. Maybe a little. But not a lot to cause me any grey hair. Besides, we already have one problem to deal with let’s not prepare for another,” she looks at him again, watching as Stiles picks at his nails. “Eat. Or I’m going to eat everything for you.”

“Stay away from my food,” Stiles points his plastic fork at her with a glare.

"Then stop plotting things that will probably get you in detention, and have the new kid avoid you until we've all graduated," Lydia tells him as she spreads out the containers making up the bento-style lunchbox, humming in quiet delight as she takes in Peter's cooking.

"What if they are a Hunter family like Allison? Or a supernatural creature here to kill us all?" Stiles asks in something like a hiss, hunching protectively over his lunchbox.

"What if they are just a normal kid that has moved to Beacon Hills, and needs to go to school?" Lydia offers as she spears a bit of grilled chicken of her chicken salad, taking a bite of it as she watches Stiles unpack his lunchbox. "Not everyone is a secret supernatural creature."

"Says the possible Banshee who is friends with a werewolf, a daughter of a werewolf hunter, and a magic user," Stiles points out dryly, having to remind himself that the cookies are for _after_ the savoury part of lunch, and not before.

Lydia rolls her eyes, though Stiles is smug that she can't really argue against him, and Allison slips into the seat next to Lydia.

"Oh! Chicken salad," Allison says in some delight as she unpacks her lunchbox, showing that all three of them got the same. "And it's _good._ "

"I know! You'd think it could be slightly bland because it's a salad, but it's not, it's good, and the chicken is incredible, and—" Stiles almost chokes on his piece of chicken as he notices Danny and Jackson heading their way, walking closely together, and a hint of the Bite—Mating Bite, _MATING BITE,_ Stiles' mind screams at him—just peeking out from the collar of jacket Danny is wearing—Jackson's jacket at that!

"Stiles!" Allison leans over the table as she attempts to pat at his shoulder, maybe trying to get his back, but Stiles can't get over how _obvious_ they are being!

 _Shitshitshitshit! This is bad. So fucking bad_ , Stiles thinks to himself as he watches Jackson and Danny approach the table. _Lydia can’t see this. I have to—_

“Lydia, we need to talk,” Jackson tells her as he stands in front of the table.

Lydia looks at him and then to Danny who stands there sweating like a sinner in church, the redhead’s eyes snap back to Jackson and Stiles just knows she already figured out what has happened.

“No. I don’t think we need to talk, Jackson. Besides, I can see you “talked” enough with Danny already,” she stands up and slaps the blondes face, the silence of the lunchroom has the sound echoing throughout the entire room.

After that, Lydia storms out of the room in a fury of red hair and rage.

Allison jumps up and collects Lydia’s stuff before running after her, Stiles not far behind. He does give a glance to Jackson who’s standing there frozen in place, wide eyed and pale.

Feeling like he’s balancing on a broken wooden board, Stiles chooses to go to Lydia first, knowing Jackson will have Danny there for emotional support.

He finds Lydia outside sitting on the bleachers with Allison next to her patting her shoulder as the redhead cries.

“I knew it was going to happen one day,” Lydia wipes at her face, “I just...I just didn’t expect it to happen like this.”

Stiles cringes slightly as he sits next to Lydia, "To be fair? I don't think Jackson really expected it to happen like this."

Though the move he just did right then? _That_ had been a dick move on Jackson's part.

There had been no subtlety, no Jackson trying to get Lydia away from the crowd to speak to her quietly, to explain.

No, Jackson had instead walked up with Danny, with Danny obviously wearing Jackson's jacket, and then asked to talk.

"What do you mean?" Lydia demands, her bottom lip trembling once traitorously before she firms her mouth.

Stiles fidgets, not wanting to expose that he knew before Lydia, and that he didn't tell her immediately. But Stiles will maintain it hadn't been his place to interfere with their relationship, and Stiles didn't know what to say.

"Stiles?" Lydia asks more than demands, the tremble of hurt in her voice making Stiles' heart hurt in sympathy.

"Jackson bit Danny," Stiles blurts out instead of trying to say it gently, and he cringes before he continues in a less rushed way. "I think Danny is his mate, and well, Jackson's just newly turned with all the instincts, that, well, he couldn't help himself?"

Lydia stares at him with red-rimmed eyes and then lets out a bitter little laugh, "That excuse is so old and overdone, and yet this time it's not an excuse, but the truth, and I have to accept that because my best friend has found his soul mate."

"Sorry," Stiles winces before steeling his back, it would be wrong to hide his knowledge of what happened. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you the moment I saw you, but I really didn't know what to say, and I didn't think it was my place to explain or interfere with your relationship, and I'm not defending Jackson fully here, because that move he just pulled? That was a dick move. But I'm acknowledging my own dickish actions by not telling you immediately."

"Jackson told you, but he didn't tell me," Lydia's voice goes flat and hard, and Stiles winces.

“Technically, he didn’t tell me. I just figured it out when he demanded I come to the locker room, so he could make sure his dick wasn’t going to fall off or something, because he knotted.”

Lydia and Allison both make different expressions at that, one of confusion and the other full of amusement.

“Of course Jackson would have called you for something about that,” Lydia huffs a laugh, still feeling shitty over the entire situation.

“If you want, I can take you out to get ice cream after school. The both of you. Then we can complain about dumb boys,” Stiles grins, trying to lighten the mood.

“Like what you did when I broke up with Scott?” Allison little smile, remembering that entire chaotic mess of a night.

“Exactly. We can go to that little ice cream place downtown. No boys, no drama, just the three of us,” Stiles smiles.

“Stiles, you’re a boy.”

“Yes, I know. I see my dick every time I wake up. And you know I was saying it like I’m your boy who is a friend, who is there to give you emotional support. Also I’m bisexual, so like I’m allowed to join in on girls night.”

Stiles then shows off his nails, "And you've already accepted me as one of the girls, I have the painted nails to prove it."

Lydia snorts, remembering the look on Stiles' face when he realised what they had done.

"Sure you can cope without Derek?" Allison teases lightly, and Stiles pretends to put on a brace face.

"It'll be hard, but I'll manage somehow," Stiles says solemnly, Lydia smiling reluctantly.

"I'd rather not drown myself in ice-cream in public," Lydia tells them with a twist of her lip. "No doubt rumours of what happened has gotten out, and I don't want to give some of the bitches at this school the pleasure of seeing me drowning my sorrows as it were."

"We'll pick up some ice-cream, and then curl up at one of our houses," Allison says with determination, an arm wrapped comfortingly around Lydia's shoulders.

"Not my house," Lydia makes a face. "My parents are fighting _again_. Mom got asked to take Harris' place as Chemistry teacher, and Dad's not happy despite the fact they are divorcing, and he doesn't really have a say if Mom works or not."

Her mother had texted her between classes, warning her to make any visits home brief, and confirming it's fine if Lydia wants to stay with a friend.

Her thoughts had gone to staying over with Allison again, but now with Jackson and Danny?

No doubt Jackson will be over there to speak with Peter, perhaps bringing Danny to get him up to date with all the things happening and the truth of werewolves, and the wound is too fresh for her to deal with.

"I suppose it's my house then," Stiles says somewhat uncertainly, the idea of going back to what's meant to be his home feeling strange to him. "I have a ton of video games that you can play to get out any anger. And hey, you could meet my brother, possibly."

Stiles doesn't know if or when either his dad or brother will get off work. He figures they have been working long hours considering the murders and everything.

It’ll be fun to see how Jordan reacts to meeting his friends.

Stiles pulls his phone out so he can text Derek, telling his boyfriend that he won’t be coming to the apartment that afternoon because he was going to be with Lydia and Allison. Eating ice cream and sharing feelings since Jackson broke up with her. Well technically, Lydia broke up with him? Maybe?

Stiles isn’t really sure how it went either way, all he knew was that they were no longer together.

* * *

The three of them hang out there for the rest of the lunch period, Stiles smiling and laughing as they all made jokes to get Lydia to feel better.

Afterwards when he checked his phone, Stiles couldn’t help but snort as he saw the row of frowns faces Derek sent him in response.

“Dork,” Stiles mutters as he types the word out and sends it to Derek.

**Derek: Not a dork.**

**User: The biggest dork, but it’s ok I like you bc you’re a dork :-)**

**Derek: Your grammar and spelling is appalling.**

Stiles grins, deciding not to let Derek know he normally texts with full and proper sentences—Dad has not yet got his head around text-speak—and he only didn't earlier due to how he was _technically_ not meant to be on his phone at the time.

**User: U'll drop us off, right?**

Stiles waits for Derek to reply, tapping the back of his phone to a random beat on the back of his phone.

**Derek: Fine.**

"Our ride is secured," Stiles informs the ladies in his life, and Lydia looks at him with a wry smile.

"You do realise he's probably going either hide in your room or something, so he'll be with you without interfering with girl time, right?" Lydia asks him, and Stiles grins at her.

"Yeah, I know he is, the big dork," Stiles says with a sappy grin on his face making Lydia roll her eyes at him, and Allison makes an 'Aww' expression.

"You two are ridiculous," Lydia informs him, and Stiles just shrugs because he doesn't care.

"Hope he knows I'm not sharing my Mint Chocolate chip with him," Allison says in a teasing way though the glint in her eyes makes Stiles suspect that she's serious.

One should never get between a woman and her ice-cream if they want all limbs intact, and their dignity in one piece, Stiles knows this with bone deep certainty.

"I'm sure he's aware," Stiles tells her, making a mental note to warn Derek anyway.

* * *

After lunch, the three of them split off to go to their class, and after that it’s just the rest of the day going by. Stiles doesn’t see head or tail of Jackson and Scott, and when lacrosse practice comes around Stiles doesn’t even bother with joining.

It’s not that he hates exercising or doing outdoor activities—Stiles is after all the captain of the track team—but lacrosse wasn’t something that interested him. He only did it because Scott wanted to and now...everything just didn’t feel the same.

Stiles grinned when he saw Derek already parked out the front of the school, leaning against the hood of his car while a pair of shades resting on the bridge of his nose.

Waving, Stiles might have started to sprint a little when he saw his boyfriend and tackled the man with a hug. Not that it deterred Derek, he stood there like a stone wall as he opened his arms and accepted the hug.

“Missed you,” Stiles mumbles as he rubs his face up against Derek’s chest.

“Missed you too, baby,” Derek kisses the top of his head.

“You saw each other this morning, slept in the same bed and fucked last night. How could you possibly miss one another?” Lydia chuckles as she comes up behind them with Allison right next to her.

"So easily, and so much," Stiles tells her without letting go of Derek, leaning his head back expectantly.

Derek doesn't need an explanation, just bends his head to kiss Stiles, and something deep in Stiles seems to unwind, and relax at the pressure of Derek's lips against his.

It's like some part of him had been on edge all day, and with Derek touching him, kissing him, he can finally relax fully without worry.

It's something that would probably make people mutter about being co-dependent, and worry about them being _too_ co-dependent especially at their _young_ age.

Yeah, they are young, but they are also basically _soulmates,_ so it's not like it's some silly fling that they'll regret or laugh about when they are older.

The co-dependent thing? Probably a real thing, something they didn't help with sleeping next to each other since before they officially made things official, and something that could cause problems when Stiles goes to college.

Not that he knows what college he wants to go to, and he's not even sure what he wants to study, _or_ he wants to be anymore.

Things have _changed_ , and his prioritises are different which means he needs to seriously think about his future—urgh, why couldn't he stay six-years-old, and think cops are the closest things to superheroes, and it would be the best thing _ever_ to work beside his dad, and protect people?

"Ice-cream," Allison reminds them in a teasing tone, waiting somewhat impatiently to get into the car, and get ice-cream for their bitching session.

"You do realise I'm driving, right?" Derek says dryly, only after reluctantly pulling away from Stiles.

"And you are holding us up," Lydia smiles at him, looking perfectly put together despite her crying session during lunch, and all the rumours already flying around about her break-up.

Derek rolls his eyes, but Stiles steps away from his boyfriend somewhat sheepishly.

"Sorry, I just missed him," Stiles tries to explain.

“Understandable,” Lydia smiles, “Now, let’s hurry up. I don’t want to see Jackson or catch wind of him, or I might commit murder.”

Derek gives a raised eyebrow at that but doesn’t say anything as he puts the front seat down to let the girls crawl into the backseat of the car.

Stiles takes the passenger seat, and happily starts fidgeting with the radio station, grinning when Derek only rolls his eyes and doesn’t say anything.

Derek hits the gas when everyone is buckled up, cutting off Jackson at the exit and smirking when he hears the teenager cursing at him from his car.

“I should tell you off for that, but honestly I don’t feel that bad,” Stiles snickers, wondering what kind of face Jackson had made when he was cut off.

Derek gives a little shrug.

Obviously, Lydia was angry at his little brother, and usually Derek would take his family’ side. Except it was Jackson, and after the shit Jackson’s been pulling, well...let’s just say the kid needed to get knocked down a peg.

Or five. Maybe ten pegs? Ten was good.

And considering Stiles isn't saying anything against it, well, Derek's going to enjoy it as much as possible before Jackson is forgiven, and Stiles gets frustrated with Derek's somewhat petty attacks and such of Jackson.

The first stop is to the local supermarket to get ice-cream, which is apparently a group activity as they all get out of the car to head inside the store.

Derek doesn't really mind as Stiles had immediately grabbed his hand, and he's getting used to holding his mate's hand around in public.

Part of him still feels like he's doing something wrong, an echo of all the taunts _she_ threw at him, but the good and secure feeling of having Stiles' hand in his, having Stiles lean against him, it quiets that part of Derek.

It lets Derek be less hyper-aware of the eyes following him, of the mutters, and it stops Derek tensing as he waits for someone to drop the insult of faggot onto them.

Stiles squeezes his hand, leaning against Derek's arm, and smelling of quiet happiness that Derek thinks could become addicting.

If all it takes is for Derek to hold Stiles' hand in public to make him so happy, then Derek will suck it up when it comes to his issues about it, and be the boyfriend that Stiles deserves.

"So, Mint Chocolate Chip for the two weirdo siblings," Stiles begins to list them off, Derek rolling his eyes beside him, and Allison pretending to playfully hit Stiles while unable to stop the beaming smile curling her lips at being called Derek's sibling. "What else are we getting for this bitch fest?"

"Bitch fest?" Lydia tries to sniff like she's unimpressed with what Stiles' says, but Stiles totally sees the hint of a smile curling at her lips.

"Uh, yeah," Stiles gives her a look, "we're getting ice-cream, we'll probably put on a romantic comedy that we'll boo and nit-pick, and we're going to talk about how stupid boys are. That's totally a bitch fest."

"I wonder if I should be worried if I count as one of those stupid boys," Derek muses in a dry tone.

“Well, you haven’t really done anything stupid lately, so I think you’re good,” Stiles smirks as Derek gives him a raised eyebrow.

Only for his boyfriend to turn towards the girls and say, “Can I join the bitch fest? My boyfriend said some stupid shit today and I think I should have the option to complain about it.”

“Hey!” Stiles makes an offended noise, “I didn’t say anything stupid, quit being mean.”

Derek and Allison both snicker at the look on Stiles’ face. Lydia giving him an amused grin which just has Stoles huffing and kicking the ground with the bottom of his foot.

“I’m joking, Stiles. You know I love everything that comes out of that mouth of yours,” Derek pulls Stiles against his chest so he can lean down and press a kiss to the teenager’s forehead.

“You better get me extra ice cream for being mean,” Stiles pouts, which has Derek chuckling.

“How about I grab you some curly fries from the diner you like? So you can eat it with your ice because you’re weird like that,” Derek compromises.

“It’s not weird! And yes I’d like that very much.”

"You eat them together?" Lydia questions with something intrigued and disgusted in her eyes. "Like dipping curly fries into the ice-cream?"

"It's the perfect blend of hot and cold, of sweet and savoury," Stiles defends himself before pausing. "I'll have to grab some vanilla ice-cream, otherwise the ice-cream flavour will mess with the delicate balance between curly fries and ice-cream."

"There's a _balance_?" Lydia asks in disbelief while Allison looks intrigued by the idea. "Allison, don't tell me you are going to try that, that weird combination."

"It sounds like it shouldn't go together, and I must see if that's true or not," Allison admits as they enter the ice-cream aisle.

Lydia's nose wrinkles, and Derek gives her a look of sympathy, he understands her disgust.

Allison and Stiles lean over the freezers, scanning the different flavours.

"Vanilla for dipping curly fries in," Stiles looks at the different brands of vanilla, opening the freezer to grab his favourite brand. "Mint Chocolate for the weirdos."

"Says the guy who is dipping curly fries into ice-cream," Lydia mutters as Allison grabs two pint containers of Mint Chocolate. "Cookie dough is a must have for a bitch fest."

Stiles hands the vanilla over to Derek so he can grab the cookie dough from the freezer.

"What else should we get?" Stiles asks, wondering what else is needed for a proper bitch fest.

Derek shrugs, but Lydia is already there answering everyone’s questions by throwing a bunch of different chocolates into the cart.

“Perfect,” Allison states, “Now let’s check out and get home so we can start this.”

Derek ends up paying for everything, refusing to let the girls or even Stiles pay. Which has Stiles wanting to huff at his boyfriends antics, but also finding it cute.

* * *

When they get to his house, Stiles is stopped the moment they enter the front door when he spots his dad and Jordan in the living room.

“Heyo daddy-o, and big bro,” Stiles gives them an ear splitting grin as he gives both men a Stilinski bear hug.

“Son, I hope you’re not planning on getting in trouble,” Noah huffs at the hurt look Stiles has.

“I’m offended you’d think I’d even do such a thing.” Stiles says, throwing a hand over his heart just to be dramatic.

“Don’t worry, Sheriff, I’ll make sure to keep your son out of trouble,” Derek gives a little smile, unsure still on if Noah even likes him or not. Or if the man is playing nice up until Derek hurts Stiles, and then is pulling out the guns.

"It'll be a full time job," Noah tells Derek seriously, smirking as Stiles makes a show of huffing. "Are you sure you are up to it?"

"I think so, sir," Derek plays along making Stiles scoff.

"Mean," Stiles tells them as he grabs the bags filled with ice-cream, and carries them into the kitchen to be put into the freezer for now. "I don't know what I did to deserve such mean people in my life."

"Well, there was one time with the lizard that you stole," Noah begins, and Stiles protests loudly as he comes back to the living room.

"I was _rescuing_ the lizard!" Stiles informs them firmly as Jordan laughs.

"So, this is the big brother then," Lydia interrupts, saving Stiles from embarrassing childhood stories that he rather not have almost all his friends and his boyfriend know about.

Lydia gives Jordan an obvious look-over, a hum escaping her as she steps forward with her hand out. "I'm Lydia Martin, it's a pleasure to meet Stiles' long-lost brother."

"Oh, hey," Jordan shakes her hand, looking a bit awkward as the two girls watch him with interested eyes. "I'm Jordan Parrish, it's nice to meet you."

Lydia gives a slow smile, enjoying the slightly flustered and mildly uncomfortable look appearing on Jordan's face as Lydia gives another slow and obvious once-over.

"Stop toying with him," Stiles huffs protectively, dumping all the chocolate and candy onto the coffee-table to the raised eyebrows of his father. "He may think you are serious, and get freaked out."

"Spoiling my fun," Lydia pouts, trying not to grin as she steps away from Jordan, and Allison steps forward with her dimpled-smile.

"Hi, I'm Allison Argent," Allison introduces herself, holding out her hand, and Jordan looks relieved to no longer being under the full attention of Lydia Martin.

"Jordan," Jordan offers as he shakes her hand. "It's nice to meet you, I met your dad already."

Jordan wisely decides not to mention that he's heard a dozen reports of the incident involving her mother.

“Was my dad in trouble?” Allison’s face suddenly turns to one of worry as she asks about her dad.

“Oh! No, no, nothing like that. We we’re meeting to discuss a few cases nothing bad,” Jordan tries to calm Allison’s worry.

Allison sighs, her shoulders dropping when she realizes her family isn’t in trouble.

“Let’s go move this to my room,” Stiles pushes, not wanting to let the awkward silence drag on.

The four of them walk up the stairs, Stiles speed walking a little faster as he realizes his room might be a mess. And when he enters he starts kicking the dirty clothes on the ground into a corner, hoping Lydia won’t berate him for the mess in the room.

Derek settles on the computer chair, leaning back and looking like a man who could care less about being here, but Stiles can see through the bullshit attitude.

“So...wanna play Smash Bros?”

* * *

"I went with him to Jungle, I helped him chose someone for the night when he wanted to be fucked by a real dick, I dealt with every issue he had, and he did _this_ to me?" Lydia rants furiously, thumbs bashing buttons, Kirby looking surprisingly bloodthirsty on the screen as Lydia rained down death upon her opponent. "No warning, not even a text, and in front of _everyone_?"

 _I will never look at Kirby the same way again_ , Stiles thinks to himself, flinching at the combo attacks Lydia rained down on her opponent.

"We've been friends for _years_ ," Lydia says through gritted teeth. "Been 'together' for two, and he did _this_ to me? And Danny! He's meant to be my friend too! And he doesn't warn me or anything! Walking around in Jackson's jacket like I wouldn't recognise it!"

"You were right," Allison says in an undertone, wincing at the brutal beat-down Kirby is dishing out. "She's really working out her anger."

"Kirby was so sweet and innocent before this," Stiles almost whimpers, tempted to bury his face against Derek's chest to hide from the reality of Kirby's downfall into becoming a brute.

But it would interfere with Derek's valiant attempt to fight back, the werewolf looking overwhelmed as he frantically bashed the buttons, as Pikachu—so cute, so innocent—tries to hold his own against the bloodthirsty Kirby.

Derek leans forward, a focused scowl on his face, and his thumbs pressing relentlessly as Lydia almost effortlessly kicked his ass, and Stiles isn't surprised when Lydia is announced the winner after another brutal attack.

"Again," Derek demands, the controlling threatening to creak and break in his grip.

"You'll lose, again," Lydia looks down her nose at Derek, and Stiles agrees with her since Derek's only won like twice out of the nine rounds they've already done.

" _Again_ ," Derek repeats, glaring at his opponent, and Lydia throws her hair over her shoulder.

"Don't go crying to Stiles when I win," Lydia's eyes narrow. " _Again_."

Derek grunts as Lydia hits that rematch game and the two of them are off smashing buttons. Stiles is almost certain that if they keep this up his controllers are going to break.

“I’m gonna go grab the ice cream. Please don’t maim one another,” he states, standing up and leaving the room, leaving Allison sitting there and watching in awe as Lydia and Derek fight like it’s a death match.

“I cannot _believe_ that pompous ass, cheating, money baby, whining **bitch**!” Lydia snarls as she has Kirby send Pikachu sailing through the screen.

“Damn it,” Derek frowns as he loses, _again._

Lydia huffs and tosses the hair out of her face when the screen announces she’s the winner.

“Well, I feel like I’ve calmed down a bit,” she smiles, setting the controller back down and turning towards the others.

“I’ll say,” Allison snickers, watching the little pout on Derek’s face.

“I’m just so angry at this idiot. I can’t believe he’s do something like that. Like, just _ugh_! I’ve never been so angry,” she takes a hand through her hair.

“Who wants ice cream and chocolate!” Stiles comes back into the room, not aware of the energy in the room, his smile freezing a little when Lydia sends him a death glare.

“Give,” she demands.

"Yes, ma'am!" Stiles almost yelps as he holds out his hoard of chocolate and ice-cream.

Lydia takes the pint of cookie dough and a bag of chocolate chunks, holding her hand out impatiently for the spoon that Stiles pulls from his pocket.

Stiles watches, somewhat wide-eye, as Lydia pulls the lid off the ice-cream after ripping open the chocolate bag. Lydia grabs a small handful of chocolate chunks, before stabbing aggressively at ice-cream with the spoon.

Stiles' boyfriend is a werewolf, an apex predator, and yet Stiles finds himself more afraid of Lydia than he _ever_ was of Derek, and Stiles once thought Derek had been plotting his murder.

Allison takes the two pints of Mint Chocolate, handing one to a pouting Derek, and also grabbing Stiles' vanilla, so Stiles can drop the bags and packages of chocolates.

Stiles gingerly takes a seat on his bed, wearily watching Lydia as he takes his pint of vanilla back after holding out spoons for Allison and Derek.

"Do you know how many times I fucked his needy ass?" Lydia demands as she keeps stabbing at the ice-cream. "Do you know how I felt our first time when Jackson first moaned Stiles' name?"

Derek glowers down at his ice-cream, and Stiles flushes, focusing on his ice-cream, and hoping against hope that Lydia doesn't go into detail about her sex life with Jackson.

"Sure, I knew that Jackson had a crush on Stiles," Lydia continues in that ranting tone that she's used since the dam first broke. "I mean, anyone with eyes could see it."

"I didn't see it," Stiles objects, and Lydia gives him a look.

"Stiles, you are so oblivious about people liking you that it's gone passed funny, and entered into being sad," Lydia informs him bluntly, and Stiles splutters.

"That's rude, and completely untrue," Stiles protests as Allison eats her ice-cream in amusement, watching with bright eyes.

"Stiles," Lydia looks at him seriously, "Jackson regularly shoulder-checked you, just to have the chance to grope you."

Derek can’t hold back the growl that escapes his throat at that, freezing a little when three sets of eyes stare at him.

“Sorry,” Derek ducks his head, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine, possessive wolf,” Stiles kisses his cheek, grinning when Derek keeps blushing.

“Cute. But to the point; Stiles, I’m sorry that because of your crush on me, I probably gave you years of insecurities and problems with believing people will never be interested in you. You’re actually a very attractive man, Stiles, and I hate the fact that you can’t see that about yourself,” Lydia sighs and shakes her head. “Hopefully dating Derek will help with that, because you deserve better.”

“I...uh...thank you?” Stiles scratches the back of his head, trying to hide the weird feeling he has right now.

Derek takes his hand and squeezes it, giving Stiles a smile.

"So," Allison breezes in, saving Stiles from his awkwardness, "he just said it without warning you before you actually had sex? That's shitty of him."

Lydia shrugs, finally taking a spoonful of her ice-cream, "We both knew sex between us would be.... _different_ considering our sexualities, but I didn't think he'd actually say someone else's name."

"That's a dick move," Stiles agrees, trying not to flush as he remembers it had been _his_ name that Jackson had said. "When you have sex with someone, you should be focused on them as much as yourself, if you know what I mean? Like, I can understand picturing someone else considering that fact neither of you were what you truly wanted, but you don't just say someone else's name."

Derek almost squirms next to Stiles, feeling guilty of the times Derek's mind had wandered off to his _clients_ when he's been having sex with Stiles.

Sure, Derek hadn't been thinking of _them_ like that, but he had compared how things were different between having sex with Stiles, _actually_ wanting to have sex with someone, and having sex with his _clients_ , going through the motions for money, and he suspects that just as shitty if in a different way.

"I got used to it," Lydia shrugs, trying to act like it hadn't hurt her, and Allison wonders if Jackson's first—and continued—slip of the tongue affected the way Lydia treated Stiles with his 'crush'. "But let's forget about my depression sex life."

The look in Lydia's eyes makes Stiles wary, a feeling that only increases when she smirks.

"You never did tell which you preferred," Lydia reminds him, obviously trying to keep her mind off Jackson and his actions. "Top or bottom?"

Stiles almost chokes on his mouthful of ice-cream, and Derek frowns in slight confusion before it clears, and he flushes, ducking his head as he focuses on his ice-cream, and trying not to look too interested in Stiles' answer.

“Uh, both? Definitely both,” Stiles states, grinning when Derek blushes.

“Really? I just assumed Derek would be more of the one who...took charge and you know, was the one fucking Stiles into the mattress,” Lydia smirks at Stiles’ scandalized face.

Derek huffs a laugh, “Actually, I let Stiles take control. I want him to lead because I want to let him choose what we do and when to stop or start.”

“That’s actually sweet,” Allison smiles.

Derek scratches the back of his head, watching as a multitude of expressions cross Stiles’ face before settling on blushing. Stiles turns and hides his face against Derek’s shoulder while the two girls giggle.

“Babe?”

Derek flushes slightly, still unused to how Stiles calling him babe makes him feel, and he almost shivers because Stiles' warm breath is against his throat.

"Yeah?" Derek says after swallowing, cheeks heating as the girls continue to giggle and watch them over their ice-cream.

"You can take control sometimes too," Stiles tells him quietly, and Derek almost freezes.

His wolf loves the idea, loves the idea of pushing Stiles down, of doing what he wants with Stiles, of having Stiles squirm underneath him, and beg for more, of leaving bruises all over Stiles' pale skin that mark Stiles as _his._

Derek, though, Derek is terrified.

He thinks of how he thought of taking Stiles in the shower, of just fucking him there despite them both having decided that they weren't ready for that step, and he thinks of Stiles give up all the power to Derek, giving him so much trust with his body, and Derek's afraid he'll abuse it.

Being in control, being in control in a sexual situation? Derek fears that's when he'll prove himself just like his father, like _Kate_ , and he shudders at the idea of Stiles looking up at him in fear, with tears of pain and fear rolling down his face.

Derek's stomach lurches slightly, the ice-cream feeling heavy and sickening, as Stiles' face is replaced by Peter's, just barely eighteen, and betrayed by someone he _trusted_ , hurt in such a way.

"I-I can't," Derek stutters out, feeling pale and skin, and Stiles sits up in alarm, as Allison takes Derek's ice-cream tub out of his slack hands, and Derek's staring blankly, seeing his mother's face stuck in his head.

"Derek?" Stiles hesitates as he slowly touches Derek, turning Derek towards him. "What's wrong? Where'd you go?"

Derek wants to say that he didn't go anywhere, but his tongue is thick in his mouth, and he keeps wondering if he'll put the express he keeps imagining Peter' wearing onto Stiles' face.

His father was a rapist, surely that means Derek could be like that too.

Stiles takes the frozen man’s face in his hands, stroking the scruff on Derek’s face and shushing him when a whimper escapes Derek’s throat at the touch.

“Hey, hey, shhhh. Derek, it’s okay. You’re safe,” Stiles whispers, pulling Derek’s face forward so the werewolf can bury it against Stiles’ throat. “You’re safe, Der.”

Derek doesn’t think he is, doesn’t think anyone’s safe if Derek’s alive and walking around, he’s dangerous to himself and everyone around him.

“I don’t think I could handle taking control,” Derek says truthfully, choking back the whine that wants to escape from his throat.

“That’s okay, Derek. I can take control until you’re comfortable, I’m not going to get mad,” Stiles pets Derek’s hair as the man slumps against his chest and rubs his face against Stiles’ chest. The werewolf looks more like a lap dog at the moment than a menacing creature of the night.

Stiles looks over to where Allison and Lydia are watching the two of them and gives them a smile.

“It’s fine, guys. He’s just gonna need some cuddles for the rest of this,” Stiles tells them, hoping to calm the anxiety buzzing around in the room.

“Are you sure?” Lydia hedges.

Nodding, his head, Stiles moves Derek a little so the man can lay his head on Stiles’ lap. The werewolf refusing to let go of him as he curls and cuddles up against Stiles’ body.

Lydia watches the almost desperate way Derek holds Stiles, one arm slipped behind Stiles' back and the other holding one of Stiles' legs to his chest like a teddy bear as he rests his head on Stiles' thigh.

There's no sign of distress in Stiles' expression at the sudden flip of Derek's mood, just something gentle and patient in a way that she didn't ever expect Stiles to be, and Stiles strokes Derek hair in easy and almost practised movements of his hand.

Lydia had been aware of Derek's issues, but apart from Allison's mention of Derek waking them all up with a howling nightmare, she hadn't seen Derek slip into anything like the.... _episodes_ —for a lack of a better term—Peter slipped into without realising that first night, and it's somewhat startling how different mother and son are when having an _episode_.

Peter lashed out, like he wanted the people around him to hurt like he's hurting, and he transformed his fear into a boiling and frightening rage, falling into a loop that he needed to be broken out from—Lydia will always admire the sheer _balls_ Stiles had to walk up to an Alpha werewolf when said werewolf is freaking out and lashing out, and basically ordering to said werewolf to stop with no fear.

Peter had need some time to himself, quiet to regain the rigid control he must have over himself not to simply fall to pieces after all he's been through, and even then he can get somewhat lost afterwards if talking about something that hits his trauma.

Derek, however, seems to shut down as his mind attacks him, and needs gentle handling to recover, needs to be able to hold and perhaps be hold by someone, and know he's not alone.

Both episodes were frightening in different ways. Peter had made Lydia fear for her life while Derek made her fear for _his._

"Can someone put our ice-cream away?" Stiles asks a bit sheepishly. "I don't think either of us are in the mood for ice-cream at the moment."

"I'll do it," Allison offers immediately.

“Thanks, Allison,” Stiles smiles up at her, scratching at the base of Derek’s hair.

The brunette gives him a smile before grabbing everyone’s ice cream and putting it away.

Lydia pulls out a chocolate bar and starts to break off a piece for Stiles and Allison, she chews on her own piece methodically as she watches the way Derek slowly comes back to himself as he relaxes against Stiles.

When Allison comes back into the room, the three of them easily pick back up in conversation, changing it to other things like plans for the futures, and talk about the supernatural.

Stiles glances down at Derek every once in a while, making sure the man isn’t going to fall back into himself, and grins when he notices that Derek looks like he’s about to fall asleep with how relaxed he is.

“You wanna get up on my bed and take a nap, Der?” Stiles nudges the man a little, “I think me and the girls are just going to work on some homework.”

Sitting up, Derek rubs at his face and gives a nod before moving to Stiles’ bed. He sniffs the pillow that smells the most like his mate and curls up around it while Stiles pulls a blanket over him.

Lydia promises herself that she'll never mention how much Derek reminded her of Prada when he sniffed at the pillows before curling around one.

It doesn't take long for Derek to fall asleep, one minute he's rubbing his face against the pillow, and then the next he's still with his mouth slightly parted as he sleeps, leaving him look almost his age despite the beard.

Stiles sits with his back against his bed, his collection of books and homework spread around him in some sort of order, and one of Derek's hands slips down and grabs absently at the shoulder of his t-shirt, fisting it, and no doubt stretching the t-shirt.

Stiles doesn't even blink or shift, no, he just looks at them expectantly, "What should we focus on first?"

"I feel guilty that I'm happy we have no Chemistry homework," Allison admits as she crosses her legs Indian-style, giving a guilty wince as she pulls out her homework.

"I won't miss the homework Harris assigned us," Stiles admits without shame, a twist to his mouth. "Or him picking on me because he was just an asshole."

Lydia cringes slightly, the mention of Harris making her remember how she founds that, and Stiles gives her a slightly guilty look.

Lydia decides to pull out her homework before she begins to try and make sense of Stiles' strange sense of guilt.

If she ever decided to take a psychological course in college, she's pretty sure she's already found a subject to study as Stiles would probably find it interesting to see what she came up with, and read her thoughts on him.

No doubt, he'd probably argue with her, and stay up all night for a crash course in psychological just to argue with her correctly, Lydia thinks with a quirk of her lips.

"English?" she offers after a moment of thought, Allison's eyes lighting up, and Stiles nods.

"You know, it's weird to realise that our life right now could be the perfect basis to base a YA supernatural novel off," Stiles says thoughtfully.

Allison bursts with laughter at that, covering her mouth with her hand as she tries not to wake Derek up.

“Sorry,” she says to the sleeping man, which gets a snort from Stiles.

“But seriously that’s actually pretty funny and accurate,” Allison tells him, earning a snicker from Lydia.

“I’m pretty sure I _have_ read a book series about werewolves in high school,” Lydia adds, shifting through the pages of her book before getting to the one she needs to read for that week.

“I’ve read fanfiction that was pretty close,” Stiles shrugs.

The three of them snicker about the whole affair quietly before going back to their homework.

Stiles chew on his own whenever he’s thinking and makes a noise when he gets the answer. Derek, on the other hand. sleeping like a pile of stones on the bed as he snores softly, his hand touching the back of Stiles’ neck while the teenager works on his homework.

* * *

His dad pops his head into the room an hour later, giving a raised eyebrow at Derek before shaking his head.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes if you kids are hungry,” he tells them.

Stiles glances at the clock on his phone, “Huh, I didn’t realise how much time has passed.”

“I will admit, I don't know what I was expecting when I came up, but this wasn't it," Noah admits as he takes in the mess of textbooks and notebooks, Derek snorting softly on the bed with his hand touching Stiles.

"Please don't tell me you expected an orgy," Stiles pleads, and Noah almost chokes while Allison claps a hand over her mouth to muffle the burst of laughter that wants to escape her.

"A proper orgy seems hard to coordination," Lydia muses thoughtfully, tapping her pen against her notebook. "Hard to find the right rhythm four people can easily fall into, and who goes with who first?"

"True," Stiles agrees because he's well aware that he's a little shit, and the colour his dad is turning as he stands in shock and listens fills Stiles' little black heart with joy. "But I don't think we'd have that type of orgy if we were going to have one, werewolves aren't good at sharing their mates, and I'm too possessive to truly enjoy myself with the knowledge that someone else is touching Derek."

"So, if there was any sex happening, it would be between the two of you while Allison and I watched," Lydia continues in that same thoughtful tone, and Stiles always knew that Lydia had evil lurking in her. "I can't say I'd be that disappointed considering my feelings, or rather my lack of feelings, when it comes to dicks, and the idea of watching you two have sex is thrilling."

"I can't hear any more of this," Noah informs them, covering his ears. "I will not hear anything that implies that my son isn't still a virgin."

"But what counts as losing your virginity in this day and age anyway?" Stiles can't help himself, he _really_ can't.

"Nope!" Noah denies, turning to go back downstairs with his hands covering his head. "Not listening, Stiles is a virgin, and Derek only wants cuddles and kisses from my son."

"I suppose it is a good thing that we covered the marks on your neck," Lydia smirks. "I don't think your dad is ready to see just what kisses Derek likes to give."

Stiles motions for her to be quiet, glancing at the door and sighing when he realises his dad has left already.

“Are you _trying_ to get my boyfriend shot?” Stiles glares at the smirking redhead.

“Who? Me? No! I wouldn’t dare,” she grins evilly.

Huffing, Stiles sets his homework to the side and stands up, wiping off anything that might have gotten on his pants before turning to shake Derek awake.

“Hey, Der-bear, it’s time to get up,” Stiles grins when the man gives him a grunt. “Come on, Derek, dinners almost ready—woah! Seriously dude!”

Said werewolf had grabbed Stiles by the shirt and dragged him down onto the bed, before rolling on top of him. Derek noses and nuzzles his face against Stiles’ throat while the human continues to try and get out from under him.

“Get your fat ass off of me,” Stiles huffs, attempting to push Derek off but failing miserably.

"Mate," is Derek says in response, nose wrinkling somewhat cutely as the scent of make-up messes with Stiles' scent, and it's _that_ more than Stiles squirming and pushing at him that makes him pull back with a grumpy scowl, glaring at Stiles' make-up covered throat like it's offending him.

Stiles has to bite back a coo at the ridiculously adorably offended look on Derek's face, his hair sticking out everywhere, and his bottom lip almost turning into a pout.

"You're adorable," Stiles informs his boyfriend, smiling as the offence on Derek's face grows, and then Stiles pushes him. "Now get off, dinner is almost ready."

For a moment, Derek looks ready to just stay there, but he relents with a small put-out sigh, and rolls of Stiles with a grumble.

"I'm not adorable," Derek mutters darkly as Stiles sits up, almost wrestling his t-shirt back into place as sleepy Derek likes touching Stiles' bare skin.

"I don't know," Allison teases her brother as she gets up from the floor. "You are part of one of those cute lovey-dovey couples."

Derek looks dumbfounded at the idea of being part of a lovely-dovey couple, and Lydia smirks as she stands and smooths down the skirt of her dress.

"Come on, babe," Stiles stands from the bed, turning to hold out a hand for Derek. "Ice-cream and chocolate hasn't kept me full, so you have to be starving. I will not survive your mother's wrath if he caught wind that I let you starve."

Derek rolls his eyes as he stands, but he still slips his hand into Stiles, feeling a warm spread in his chest as Stiles smiles at him, and squeezes his hand.

"I'm not that hungry," Derek denies just before his stomach growls, and betrays him.

"Ssssuuuurrrrreeee," Stiles drawls out the word far too much, raising his eyebrows at Derek. "Because stomachs growl like that all the time."

Derek huffs as the girls snicker slightly.

"Come on," Stiles tugs on Derek's hand, gesturing for the girls to go first. "Food for hungry werewolves and teens."

Derek takes the hand he’s holding, and brings it up to his lips so he can press a kiss to Stiles’ knuckles, a soft smile growing on his face when he smells the affection and something that could even be _love_ blossom in his mate’s scent.

“You’re such a sap,” Stiles tugs Derek closer so he can kiss the man’s cheek. “Let’s go, loser.”

“I’m not the one who lost the first round,” Derek pokes, grinning when Stiles gives an affronted look before going down the stairs.

* * *

“Is that chili I smell?” Stiles starts to jump a little in his place.

“Yup,” Noah grins as he watches the two of them enter the kitchen, “Jordan made it, and it smells amazing. And with real meat.”

Stiles opens his mouth to argue about his dad’s diet, but is stopped when Jordan interrupts.

“It’s Buffalo meat actually, which is a lot heart healthier than most meats,” the deputy explains.

“Oh...huh, I had no idea,” Stiles feels like he’s at a loss for words.

Stiles looks around the kitchen, feeling a bit lost.

There's a salad bowl set on the counter ready to be taken out to the dining table, Jordan's taking out home-made sweet-potato fries from the oven, and there's rice waiting to be dished up and covered in chili.

A healthy home-cooked meal, a meal that his dad is actually looking forward to eating. Something Stiles has been trying to achieve for years, and it feels strange that Jordan's able to do it so seemingly effortlessly.

"I've never eaten Buffalo meat," Lydia admits as she enters the kitchen with Allison. "It smells good though."

"Thanks," Jordan smiles, a modest and humble smile. "I just hope it tastes as good as it smells."

"I'm sure it will," Noah reassures Jordan, looking eager to eat it due to having real meat in it.

 _Was it as simple as that?_ Stiles wonders almost blankly, _give him real meat that's also healthy? Would that have stopped him complaining about me worrying about his diet? And stopped all the mutters of rabbit food?_

"Stiles?" Derek asks in some worry as Stiles' scent goes _strange_.

"I'm fine," Stiles says automatically, without thinking about it, flashing a quick smile. "Let's set the table, yeah?"

Derek frowns at him for a moment, looking intently at his face, and unsubtly breathing deeply through his nose as if he's trying to scent out what's wrong, but he gives a nod.

Setting the table for six people is different than for the normal one and sometimes two, and it feels weird to see a place set up in front of all the seats around the round table—his mother thought square and rectangular tables creating too much distance between people, made them focus too much on being in the most important seats, and Stiles absently wonders if she's the reason why Peter has a rather large circular table in his kitchen/dining room.

The girls bring out the plastic glasses for drinks, a plastic jug filled with water to keep their glasses full.

Plastic doesn't break like proper glass, something that's good to have when your only child has ADHD and is clumsy as well.

“I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now,” Allison admits as she sits down, Jordan starts to serve the bowls.

“Same,” Stiles buzzes in his seat as Jordan serves his bowl.

Derek smiles, watching his mate eat with gusto and makes a noise of delight.

“This is really good. Let’s agree to not tell Peter, or else he might get jealous,” Stiles says, eating another spoonful of chili, looking over and seeing Derek is still just watching him, Stiles nudges his boyfriend’s foot with his so the man will get the hint.

Clearing his throat, Derek sits up and starts to eat as well.

The food does indeed taste really good, but he would never say it out loud.

His mother’s cooking is the best he’s had, and sure this chili has an extra spicy kick to it and makes his nose a little runny, but Derek’s positive Peter could cook better.

"Peter has nothing to be jealous about," Jordan says as he scoops up some chili and rice on his spoon. "My talent in the kitchen is a lot more limited than what I've heard about Peter's ability."

"You've made home-made burgers," Stiles points out. "Your talent is better than mine. I would have gotten frozen burgers from the supermarket."

 _You are also having a better time getting Dad to eat healthily than I ever did_ , Stiles adds in his head, certain that he would sound bitter if he said it out loud, and he doesn't want to sound bitter.

He should be pleased that Jordan's getting Dad to eat healthy, and he _is_. It's just....well, it smarts that Dad is taking to Jordan's attempts to keep him healthy better than all of Stiles' attempts over the years, and it's _not_ Jordan's fault, and Stiles didn't blame his brother at all.

"Veggie burgers," Noah mutters in disgust which Stiles thinks is a bit much as the veggie burgers tasted great.

"We'll have to try Peter's chili to compare the two," Lydia says with a glint in her eyes that says she's already scheming to have Peter's cooking again.

"Where's Jackson? I thought the five of you would be sticking together after this weekend," Noah asks curiously, focusing more on his chili than the side-dish of salad.

Lydia's face freezes slightly, and Stiles winces, bracing himself for whatever is about to come out of Lydia's mouth.

"He's probably getting fucked by Danny," Lydia says in a tone that's trying to sound unaffected, but has a tremble of hurt and anger to it.

Noah chokes on his spoonful of chili, and Jordan pinks slightly, and it's obvious that neither of the older men knew what to say.

"This chili is really good," Allison says brightly, a fixed smile on her face. "What did you use to give it the extra spicy kick? Chili powder? Actual chillies? Or some other spice?"

“Um...” Jordan says, still in shock at how brazen Lydia was in her answer.

“Never mind,” Allison fidgets a little in her seat at the awkwardness.

Derek glances around the table and snorts at the idiocy of his younger brother. He takes a moment to think about what he wants to say, because if he just blurts it out, he’ll probably fuck it up. He’s not like Stiles, who can make a conversation out of one word.

“You shouldn’t get caught up in what Jackson did. Boys...teenage boys are stupid and reckless, and will do stupid things for the people they love. I know right now it’s going to hurt, and you’ll probably want to kill him but...maybe use that anger for something else. You’re better than him, Lydia. And you should show it.”

Derek shifts nervously as everyone at the table seems to be staring at him, his shoulders hunch in on himself and Derek startles when Stiles rests a hand on his knee.

Glancing at his mate, Derek gives Stiles a wobbly smile when Stiles grins at him with a starstruck look.

"Thank you," Lydia says after a moment, clearing her throat softly, and blinking slightly rapidly at the unexpected sting to her eyes at Derek's compliment. "I know I'll forgive the jerk for what he did," Lydia's lips twist slightly, still finding the idea slightly galling at having to forgive Jackson for cheating on her, but well, she really couldn't stand between soulmates, could she? "But I'm going to make him beg for forgiveness for trying to explain in front of the whole grade, and with Danny wearing his jacket."

"Werewolves like their mates smelling of them," Stiles says knowledgeable, deciding not to ask just how far Lydia is going to go with the whole getting Jackson to beg for forgiveness, and Derek drops his spoon with a clatter.

"Wait," Derek says in disbelief. "Danny is Jackson's _mate_?"

"Wait, werewolves have mates?" Noah asks in confusion, glancing between Derek and Stiles. "What does mates mean for them?"

"Well yeah," Stiles looks at Derek in confusion. "Jackson wouldn't have cheated like that, in school where Lydia rules, if it hadn't been for that reason."

"True," Lydia agrees reluctantly. "Jackson has never been the cheating type, every time we had another man in bed for him to get fucked, we picked him out together."

"As the Sheriff, I should not be hearing about all this underage sex," Noah says dryly, a slight flush on his cheeks as Jordan chokes on his water.

"You mean to tell me, he was more freaked out about his dick growing a knot than he was of realising he has a mate?" Derek asks in increasing disbelief, and Stiles gives him a look.

"A _knot_?!" Noah demands with a slightly higher pitch voice.

"How'd you know that?" Stiles almost demands him. "I thought I was the only one to know that since Jackson texted me about attacking Danny," Stiles pauses slightly, and recognises that Danny had been _right_ in saying that Jackson had attacked him in a different way. "Just not in the way I had thought when I raced to the rescue."

"He texted you?" Derek demands. "He called me!"

“I thought only born wolves could knot. Isn’t Jackson a bitten werewolf?” Lydia questions, while the sheriff fumbles with some control.

“You know, I just realised I needed to work on some things in my office. I think I’ll just finish up my dinner in there,” he stands up a little too quickly and grabs his food before leaving.

“Great, we just traumatized my dad,” Stiles shakes his head, “I wasn’t this bad before werewolves. I think I got worse.”

Stiles’ eyes turn to Jordan who’s still seated at the table, “Aren’t you going to leave?”

The older man shrugs, “Technically, I could be a born supernatural as well which means I could also have a knot. Plus I’m curious about the whole werewolf stuff.”

Stiles weirdly preens at the fact his brother hasn’t gone running for the hills, yet.

“Well, I’m sure we can fill you in with all the weird and wacky shit that happens to werewolves.”

"Werewolves aren't weird," Derek mutters in a disgruntled tone, making Stiles pat at his knee.

"Can we go back to how Jackson has a knot now?" Lydia says somewhat impatiently. "He's a bitten werewolf."

"Yeah, but with a werewolf parent," Stiles reminds her, feeling a grin inappropriately pull at his lips as he watches Lydia think that over.

"But he was born human," Lydia argues, and Stiles shrugs.

"Apparently werewolf magic deemed him born werewolf enough for him to knot," Stiles makes a sweeping motion with his hands, and Lydia looks disbelieving.

"Does this mean that Jackson can get pregnant now?" Allison asks curiously.

There's a pause as all eyes turn to Derek, and Derek gives a sigh.

"Yes," Derek answers Allison's question. "If you can knot, and you have a male partner that tops," he flushes slightly as he explains this to his mate's older brother that's watching him closely, "and doesn't use protection then yes, it's very possible for a male born werewolf to get pregnant."

There's a beat then Lydia smirks evilly, "Please tell me that I can be the one to tell them that Danny has to keep it wrapped if he doesn't want to end up a teen father."

"You don't think Jackson may top?" Stiles finds himself asking curiously, not knowing _why_ he's so interested, and Lydia scoffs dismissively.

"Jackson's a needy bottom," Lydia explains without shame. "The closest he'll ever come to topping is riding Danny's dick. He loves having a dick fucking him, doesn't even need his cock to be touched to cum, and he even enjoys to be fucked until his hole is puffy and swollen from over-fucking."

"That....that is more than I was _ever_ expecting to know about Jackson's sex life," Stiles admits after a moment. "Though does explain Jackson's confidence that he'd be ready for me to fuck him whenever and where-ever."

"He told you that?" Allison asks, some repressed laughter in her tone as Derek growls possessively. "At _school_?"

Stiles gives her a shrug in answer, and then turns to squeeze Derek’s shoulder.

“Chill, dude, you know you’re the one and only werewolf for me. So don’t get all growls and jealous,” Stiles tells him.

Derek would apologise, but at this moment, Jackson is lucky he’s not in the room or else Derek would have strangled the teenager.

He hopes with finding out that Danny was Jackson’s mate, the blond would leave Stiles alone and stop trying fuck _his_ mate.

Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s cheek when his growling grows louder, and it’s like a shut off switch for the wolf.

“Sorry,” he grunts.

"So, I'm guessing you and my brother are mates then," Jordan deduces as he watches Derek and Stiles.

Derek freezes slightly, looking like a deer in headlights—or, Jordan supposes with some amusement, a wolf in headlights—and obviously confirming what Jordan already thought as Stiles flushes brightly.

"Ah," Stiles says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I knew I forgot to tell you guys something."

Lydia snorts at that.

"So, Jackson called Derek _and_ texted Stiles?" Allison asks, hoping to take the heat off Derek and Stiles, and finding the whole thing hilarious. "For the same thing?"

"He woke me up," Derek grumbles as he turns back to his chili.

"Oh, you may think it's funny, but you weren't the one that came rushing into the locker room, expecting to see Danny either cowering in fear or bleeding, and instead being confronted by Jackson's dick hanging out," Stiles says darkly, and Allison laughs.

"Wait," Lydia's lips twitch as Derek's head snaps to Stiles, and he gapes at his mate. "Are you saying he was just standing there, with his dick hanging out, and freaking out about his knot?"

"And Danny just stood there, completely shameless with his top off, his jeans undone, and his boxers obviously wet with cum," Stiles grumbles, wincing slightly as he realises what he said as he glances worriedly at Lydia.

"What did he think was going to happen to it?" Lydia's lips twitch madly, trying to repress the urge to laugh, and Jordan shakes his head. "I mean, it's just a knot."

"Woman, you do not realise just how thick and big knots are," Stiles informs her. "Especially considering how thick Jackson's dick is before the knot."

" _What_?" Derek growls, not liking the fact that _his_ mate has seen Jackson's dick, and knows what it looks like.

“Chill, Der,” Stiles pats the man’s thigh.

Derek should probably calm down and not let the fact Stiles saw Jackson’s dick bother him.

Flexing his fingers from where they’re digging into the table, Derek watches as his claws leave scratches into the wood as he holds back all the rage festering inside of him.

“Derek?”

“I’m fine,” he lies, standing up and leaving the room.

Derek thinks about heading up to Stiles’ room but if he does, he knows he’s going to do something, so instead he chooses to go out the back door.

Derek snarls and lets the muscles stretch under his shirt, his wolf urging to let him let loose, to howl and claw at anything and dig his fangs into flesh.

He doesn’t do either.

The dangerous animal inside of him settles back down once Derek takes a few breaths and anchors himself.

He thinks about waking up with Stiles in his arms, his sweet, sweet mate peppering his skin with those soft lips. Amber eyes shining up at him, and that little impish smirk.

Derek wants nothing more than to keep Stiles in bed, hold the man down underneath him and lavish him with love.

There’s the snap of a twig behind him and Derek freezes as he listens to the noise.

“Hello, sweetie,” a venomously familiar voice says.

Derek turns around and is hit in the face with wolfsbane that has him gagging, and falling to his knees, looking up his sight is filled with the horrifying sight of his abuser.

Kate Argent.

“I can’t wait to play with you again, mutt.”


	8. Chapter Eight, "I'm gonna rip out your throat. With my teeth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual warnings involving this fic.

Stiles wants to go after Derek, he does, but he also realises perhaps Derek just needs some air alone, and his presence isn't needed, and it's not like Derek's going to be gone long.

So, Stiles stays seated at the table as Lydia's shoulders shake with silent laughter, Allison's laughter turning into giggles, and Jordan looks a bit dumbfounded by the day Stiles has had.

 _You and me both, brother, you and me both_ , Stiles thinks to himself, because seriously, what is his life right now?

Stiles did not sign up to talk werewolves through masturbating with their first knots, and yet, he had to do _that_ today.

Still, he's glad that Lydia is able to laugh about the circumstance of Stiles being a witness to the aftermath of Jackson's cheating.

Stiles is about to eat the last of his chili when his stomach suddenly drops, and a cold sweat breaks out on his skin as he's suddenly overcome with fear. Not his fear, his muddled brain is able to tell him, but—

" _Derek_ ," Stiles gasps out, pushing away from the table, and standing on shaky legs.

"Stiles?" Allison's voice is concerned, but Jordan's voice is alarmed as he calls out to his brother too.

Blood rushing through his ears, Stiles barely hears them as he heads for the backdoor, trying to calm himself down, trying to tell himself that he's being silly, that there's nothing wrong, that Derek is going to be standing there, and he'll give Stiles that worried scowling frown, hands reaching out to check Stiles over despite the fact that Stiles will obviously be fine, and Stiles will laugh as he writes it off to someone walking over his grave, and everything will be _fine_.

It feels like it takes forever to get to the door, to push it open with more force than needed, but it could only have taken five minutes.

 _Five minutes_ , Stiles remembers as he stares at the swinging back gate and hears the roar of an engine, _is all it takes to kidnap someone._

Everything is _not_ fine.

“Stiles!? Stiles!” Jordan comes running out the back door and almost runs into his younger brother frozen form. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“He’s gone....” Stiles sounds like a hollowed ghost as he says those words.

“Derek left?”

He whips around, eyes blazing as he snarls out, “That fucking **bitch**. She took him, right under my nose. I’m going to _kill_ her.”

“What happened?” Lydia says as she and Allison join the two of them in the backyard.

“Derek was kidnapped,” Jordan tells them before turning to put his hands on Stiles’ shoulder. “Hey, hey, come on Stiles, you need to calm down before you do something reckless. Take a few breathes.”

Someone gasps, Stiles thinks it’s Allison, “Stiles, your hands!”

Glancing down at his hands, Stiles freezes when he realizes his hands are on _fire!_

“What the fuck! Jordan, get away I’ll burn you!” Stiles stumbles backwards, trying to set the flames out but they just keep crawling up his arms. His heartbeat skyrockets and Stiles feels like his brain is going to explode as he tries to get his emotions under control.

The fact that Kate had the balls to kidnap Derek, take his mate from him at the _Sheriff’s house._

That fucking bitch!

But then Stiles feels his stomach drop because _he_ was supposed to protect Derek from this, he was going to make sure Derek stayed safe and far, far away from the hunters bullshit.

 _I failed him,_ Stiles thinks, watching as the flames suddenly turn black and start to crawl up his shoulders. _If I can’t protect the one person I love, how am I supposed to protect the others? Weak. Weak. You’re so fucking pathetic._

Jordan curses as he watches the flames eat away at Stiles' t-shirt, Stiles staring blankly towards the swinging back gate, and he moves to grab Stiles' arms to the gasps of the girls behind them.

"Lydia, get the Sheriff," Jordan orders, not even grimacing as the fire licks harmless at his skin. "Allison, call your dad."

Lydia turns, her red hair flaring behind her like a banner as she flees back into the house, and Allison fumbles as she pulls her phone from her jeans' pocket.

Glad that they are doing as ordered, Jordan focuses back on his little brother, and only grimaces as he sees the black flames have completely consumed his torso, and is licking at Stiles' face.

"Stiles," Jordan hardens his tone, raising his voice slightly, and holding back the urge to shake Stiles out of it. "I need you to calm down, to control yourself. You can't do anything for Derek like this."

Allison curses as she has to retype her pass code, her fingers feeling clumsy, and she gasps as something in her chest goes tight and angry, barely covering fear, and she stills as an enraged _roar_ seems to echo throughout Beacon Hills.

 _Peter_ , something in Allison recognises, something to do with the bond in her chest that is pulsing with rage and fear, _he **knows.**_

She jumps as her phone blares, her dad's name on the screen, and it's easier to press accept then it has been to press her pass code in.

Allison is shaking as she raises the phone to her ear, her own fear mixing with the echo of Peter's before the bond she feels with the Alpha gets... _muted_ for lack of another term in her chest.

"Dad," Allison says, not knowing what to say.

"Allison," her dad's voice is tight with concern and something like fear, the sound of growling in the background making all the small hair on her body stand up straight as the sound goes straight to her hind-brain, and tells her to be afraid. "What's happened? Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Derek's been kidnapped," Allison says numbly.

There’s a roar that echoes in the background, and Allison can feel her phone shake in her hand from the noise of it. She hears her dad yelling for Peter and then the line goes dead, she grips the device so hard she’s surprised it didn’t break in her hand.

The back door swings open as the Sheriff and Lydia come back outside the and both of them gawk as they see the fire has engulfed Stiles’ entire being.

“Stiles, it’s gonna be okay,” Jordan pats his brother’s shoulder, “I need you to take a few breaths with me. Deep, deep breaths—there you go, you’re doing so good. Now just a few more, it’s okay, Stiles.”

Pulling Stiles into his arms, Jordan hugs his little brother and squeezes his arms until he feels the tension in Stiles’ body go slack.

“I couldn’t protect him,” Stiles cries, gripping Jordan’s shirt as he tries to keep himself calmed down.

“It’s okay, Stiles. We’ll get him back, no one’s going to hurt him. I promise we’ll get him back,” Jordan pats his back, squeezing Stiles again.

"She's already hurt him, she took him!!" Stiles squeezes at Jordan's shirt, the fabric turning into ash in his hands, the fire still covering his hands despite Jordan calming him down enough to no longer resemble the Human Torch.

But there's no way for Stiles to be completely calm, not when Derek is _gone_ , and it's because Kate _fucking_ Argent, and it happened when Stiles should have been able to protect him.

He knows they'll get him back, he knows that Peter will stop at nothing to get his son back, and he knows he'll be right there beside the Alpha when he does, but he doesn't know what kind of state Derek will be in when they get to him.

Kate already had such a hold on him, already hurt him so much, and her poisonous lies and abuse still affects him.

What will she do to him now? How far will she push Derek back? Will she torture him? Rape him? Or would she be content just to keep him prisoner as she waits for his Alpha to come?

Stiles didn't know, and that terrifies him.

"What happened?" Noah demands, resisting the urge to go over to his sons, and gathering Stiles into his arms.

He can't be a father right now, he has to be the Sheriff as Derek's been kidnapped.

"He's gone," Allison mutters numbly, not knowing what to do, and Stiles is still partly on fire while naked, and Jordan's shirt is going the same way as Stiles' clothes, and Derek is _gone._

Derek's gone, Derek's been _kidnapped_ , _her brother_ has been kidnapped.

Allison's knees buckle, and it's only due to Lydia grabbing her that she doesn't hit the floor.

"Derek needed to get some air," Lydia reports quickly, forcing herself to be calm, to be the steady rock for Allison and Stiles. "He was only gone about five minutes or so when Stiles just suddenly went after him. Stiles looked scared, but we didn't know why until we got out here, and Derek was _gone_ ," her breathing hitches somewhat, "there was an engine roaring as it left, the back gate left open, and Stiles—"

**“Where is he!”**

Everyone jumps when they hear the roar of Peter’s voice as he comes rampaging into the backyard, shifted and eyes bleeding red. Peter snarls when no one answers, and his hackles raise when he smells the faint scent of fire on Stiles.

“ _Stiles,”_ he stalks towards the teenager, ignoring the fact that Jordan puts a hand on his belt where his gun is sitting.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sobs, moving towards Peter. The Alpha grabs the human, pulling him against his chest and scenting the crying teenager in his arms to make sure he isn’t hurt. “It’s all my fault, I should have followed after him. But I didn’t and now—and now Kate has him in her hands.”

Peter let’s put a terrifying howl that has the ground shaking, his face shifts even more so it’s something akin to that of a Halloween movie. His claws elongate into the length of short knives and it has everyone in the backyard taking a step backwards.

“I will **kill** that woman,” Peter huffs and grunts through fangs, sounding more like an animal as his rage takes over his thoughts. “I will hunt her down, rip her into pieces and then I will make sure she suffers slowly.”

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Stiles buries his face against the fur of Peter’s chest.

Something clicks, and Peter squeezes the boy in his arms, “It’s okay, Stiles. This isn’t your fault, and I promise we’ll get Derek back. Now wipe your tears, we have a bitch to hunt.”

Noah doesn't even think about arguing against Peter, not when his son has been taken, and it due to Noah having to wait for the FBI that stopped him from arresting her already.

Noah just keeps his eye on where Stiles is pressed against a shifted Peter, one of Peter's clawed hands almost completely covering most of Stiles' bare back as Peter is pushed closer to transforming fully.

Stiles rubs his face against Peter's chest one last time before he pulls back, and rubs harshly at his face as Chris enters the backyard with a visibly anxious Jackson and Danny.

"Dad!" Allison almost barrels straight into Chris' arms, Chris pulling her close and pressing a kiss on top her head. "Derek."

"I know," Chris says quietly before looking up towards where Peter is hunched slightly over Stiles, deciding not to question why the teenager is naked. "Peter."

Peter looks up, features more wolf-like than ever, and eyes burning red.

"You need to shift back," Chris tells his mate, ignoring the instinctive fear that runs through him. "You know that."

Peter snarls slightly, but rocks his neck as he forces the shift back as much as possible, leaving his eyes red and shirtless considering his chest had thickened and furred up, half-way towards his Alpha shift.

Peter reaches out, and pulls Stiles close, plastering the teen to his side as he marches to the house as he knows that Chris isn't going to let him hunt that bitch without a proper plan.

For his part, Stiles clings to Peter from his place tucked under Peter's arms with one arm wrapped around Peter's waist while his other hand is pressed flat against Peter's chest as if he's taking comfort from the feel of his Alpha's heart beating furiously underneath.

Part of Lydia wonders if Stiles is unaware of himself being naked, or just not caring due to the fact Derek's missing, but she decides she'll be the one to go and grab some new clothes for Stiles while Peter and Stiles take comfort from each other.

“Chris,” Peter’s voice is sharp and clipped, “I need to know about any and all safe houses Kate might have taken Derek.”

Lydia makes a face as she comes back into the kitchen, “Can’t you just sniff them out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s a trained psychopath. She knows how to perfectly cover her scent and tracks from a werewolf, why do you think I haven’t gone after her just yet?”

Chris looks at the sheriff and asks, “Do you have a map of Beacon Hills?”

“I’ve got a few in my office,” Noah answers.

“Great. I need you to grab that for me, so I can mark out every knowable place, and possible places. Kate will try and hide somewhere different, but I know where she might have taken him.”

Stiles takes the clothes from Lydia and pulls them on, feeling uncomfortable with the fact he just burned off his own clothes.

Noah hurries to his office to grab the maps as Peter automatically pulls Stiles back to him, holding him close as he waits impatiently.

Chris sits Allison down on the couch while Lydia grabs a pen for Chris while ignoring how Jackson is hovering nearby.

Jordan leans against the wall of the living room, his arms crossed over his bare chest, and tries to ignore the interested looks sent his way by the darker skinned teenage boy.

"What happened?" Jackson asks, refraining from pulling Danny close as he doesn't want to rub what he's done in Lydia's face.

"Derek's gone," Stiles says, quiet and looking down at his hands, still unable to believe he set himself on fire. "I failed him."

"You didn't," Peter says fiercely, clutching his son's mate closer. "I should have known something like this would have happened. I should have just ripped her throat out the moment I heard she was here."

Chris doesn't even flinch, he just grimly wishes he had done something before he left the house. He should have known that Kate wouldn't listen to him, he should have known that she would ignore his warning.

Noah comes back with the maps, moving over to the dining table and pushing aside the mostly empty bowls, and he spreads out the maps out for Chris to look over.

Chris squeezes Allison's shoulder, leaving her in the hands of Lydia, and moving over to look over them.

Chris grabs a pen off of the counter and starts to circle every hide out, adding to the stars to the places they will most likely be at. For a moment he pauses, until finally circling one last area but it’s a stretch and something he’s throwing out there.

“The Hale house? You think they might be there?” Stiles raises an eyebrow at the hunter.

“There’s a small chance, yes. But one I’m willing to take if it means saving Derek from Kate,” Chris nods his head.

He’s already given up ever caring for his blood family, he knew who they really were. Monsters, murderers and rapists.

“We should check there first,” Lydia says, startling everyone out of their thoughts.

Peter, not one to argue with redhead, leans forward and inquires, “Why?”

“Something...those voices they keep telling me somethings going to happen. It’s very quiet though, so I think it means nothing has happened yet,” she explains, not wanting to sound insane.

“They know someone is going to die tonight,” Stiles says, sounding faintly haunted at the thought that that someone might be Derek.

"The only one dying tonight is Kate," Peter growls protectively, pulling Stiles closer as if he could hug that thought from Stiles' mind. "I'll make her regret ever taking my son."

"Lydia's hearing voices now?" Danny asks Jackson in an undertone.

"We think she's a Banshee," Jackson answers his mate softly, and Danny gives him a look making Jackson shrug. "Welcome to the weird supernatural side of Beacon Hills."

Danny shakes his head, knowing he'll have to wait to catch up on everything till after this crisis is over.

Jordan glances over at his father and boss, wondering what part they are going to play.

"We're going to deal with the nurse," Noah informs them, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at Peter. "We have enough to arrest her for her crimes, and we can hold her for the FBI to look into her background."

Noah has stood back, and allowed one mad woman free long enough to kidnap someone. He'll be damned if he will let another woman do something, especially considering she's spending every day in the school, _far_ too close to the town's teenagers.

Stiles had been right, of course he was. Either Jenifer, or someone else, hadn't been thorough with wiping away any evidence of what happened to Peter in that hospital room, and he and Jordan had been able to compile a good enough case to use to arrest her.

With her safely locked up, they will have more time to further the case against her.

He'll not fail the others again, he'll not let a threat to his son walk around free, and able to act.

Peter's face tightens slightly, a flash of fear appearing in his red eyes at the mention of Jenifer, and he nods.

"Chris and I will deal with Kate," Peter tells Noah firmly, ignoring the protest of both Jackson and Stiles. "You deal with Jenifer."

Noah nods, not hiding his relief that Stiles would not be joining Peter, and glances at Jordan, "You may want to put a shirt on."

Jordan blinks, and looks down at himself with some surprise.

“I didn’t even noticed my shirt had been burned. I was too worried about Stiles getting hurt,” Jordan admits as he leaves the room to quickly retrieve a shirt.

Stiles snorts at his older brothers obliviousness only to realize not that long ago he had practically forgotten he was naked.

“Come now, Stiles,” Peter grabs the map and leads the boy to the door with his Pack following behind him. “We have to be quick, I don’t want Derek to be with that horrible bitch for longer than he needs to. Who knows what lies she’s trying to fill his head with.”

“If she fucks Derek up again, you better not get in my way Peter,” Stiles says with a fire in his voice, “She’s the whole reason he can never love himself, or believe people will love him. I want to break every bone in her body and make her pay for what she’s done.”

Peter couldn’t help but find a dark satisfying feeling within his chest at those words, his wolf preening at the fact his son’s mate was ready to spill blood in order to protect him.

"Jackson," Peter says as he reaches the door, his heart squeezing as he looks at his youngest son, and knowing he can't keep Jackson with him as he hunts Kate. "Take the others home, keep them save in the den."

"What?" Jackson scowls, eyes flashing gold. "I'm going with you."

"No," Peter says firmly, reaching out and curling his hand around the back of Jackson's neck, squeezing slightly until Jackson submits. "I need you and the others safe, take my key, go to the den, and wait there. Please."

 _I can't have you in danger too_ , Peter thinks, but doesn't say. Though it doesn't seem he has too as Jackson clenches his jaw before nodding.

"Fine," Jackson says, obviously not happy with it, and Peter hands over both his apartment key and the spare key to Derek's car to Stiles.

"Thank you," Peter presses a quick kiss to Jackson's forehead before releasing his son, and opening the door.

Stiles keeps beside Peter, doesn't look over as the other teens—with various degrees of reluctance—head to Jackson's car, and he hopes that his dad doesn't realise where he's going as he follows Peter and Chris to Chris' car with its trunk armoury, parked just behind Derek’s Camaro.

Jackson wants to argue more, wants to snarl and shout, wants to point at that Derek is _his_ brother, and that if Stiles is going then he should too.

But part of him wants to get Danny somewhere _safe_ , where Hunters can't even look at his mate, and the feeling only increases when he glances at Allison and Lydia.

And he understands why his mom didn't want him to come even though the rejection hurt and angered him, Peter can't afford to have his attention split when trying to rescue Derek, and it _would_ be if both of his pups were there, both in danger. It hurts, but he understands.

He still wants to protest Stiles silent inclusion on the rescue mission, wants to point out that if they aren't safe then how will Stiles be? But he thinks what he'd be like if it was _Danny_ that had been taken, and every argument dies.

“This is ridiculous,” Lydia states as Jackson drives them the other way, she watches in the rear window as Stiles and Peter get further and further away from them. “I don’t want to be treated like some princess who needs to sit on the side-line. We should be out there trying to protect our friends.”

“Trust me, I don’t want to be on the side-lines either. I’d rather beat some hunters up, but you know I can’t go against my Alpha’s words,” Jackson grunts as he drives.

Lydia opens her mouth to try and argue, but pauses, and keeps it closed.

Jackson can’t argue with his Alpha, but she can, and she’s not going to sit by and let the hunters get away again.

* * *

Stiles practically presses the pedal to the metal as he flies by the second red light.

He’s surprised no one’s tried to pull him over yet, but then again his dad might have his officers working on arresting Jennifer and the FBI there to help.

Chris drives behind him at almost the same speed, and Stiles presses on the gas pedal harder.

“Let’s see how fucking fast your car can go, Derek,” he hits the pedal and jerks as the car zooms forward.

It’s like a string is tugging him forward and for a moment Stiles doesn’t even register it, until he realizes the closer he gets to the Hale house the harder the string pulls.

 _Derek_ , Stiles recognises, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

 _That fucking **bitch!**_ Stiles seethes to himself as he realises that Chris had been right to circle the old Hale house. _Hold on, Derek, I'm coming for you._

Stiles presses the pedal harder, needing to get there faster.

* * *

Derek didn't know when he lost consciousness.

All he remembers is seeing Kate's face, and then nothing until now.

The lingering smell of ashes and burnt flesh underneath something cold and damp, stuffy from lack of use, and he knows where he is before he even opens his eyes, and his breathing hitches with that realisation.

The tunnels, he's in the tunnels.

The tunnels his family would have used to escape the fire successfully if he wasn't for him.

He's hanging from his wrists more than anything, his feet just touching the floor, and he shivers as he realises his shirt is gone, and there's something digging into his side.

He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to see the reality where he was, or what was about to happen to him.

"Let's not play pretend, sweetie," Kate's voice croons at him, making him want to flinch away from the direction of her voice in fear and disgust, and Derek's eyes snap open, knowing it's better to be able to see her than be blind. "I'm not going to fool for it, and I may get meaner sooner than later if you keep this up, sweetie."

Derek hadn't even heard her, and yet she stands before him with a smug smirk curling her lips, and cold eyes staring at him as she caresses a switch of some sort.

"Look at you," Kate says, eyes hungrily trailing down Derek's body, and making him shudder, Derek wishes he could cover himself as he _feels_ her gaze run over his body, lingering at certain areas. "The puppy grew up in _all_ the right places."

Derek wants to snarl, wants to growl, but he can only clench his jaw to prevent himself from letting out a terrified whine.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Too afraid to bite? You know I like it when you have a little bite,” she laughs at him, but it’s nothing cute or loving, it’s like a belt to his skin each time he hears her laugh.

 _Just stay quiet_ , Derek tells himself. If he has to bite his own tongue off he will do it, he doesn’t want to speak to this woman.

“Always trying to play the silent type, it’s okay, I’ll get you talking at some point,” Kate steps away to run her finger over the table she has set out.

Laid on top of it, Derek can see all sorts of devices used to torture people and some jars of what he knows is probably wolfsbane.

It makes him want to curl away, to run and hide but he’s chained up against the wall, and terrified of what she plans on doing.

“Before we can have any fun, I’m going to have to kill your _feral_ Alpha and then you’re little boy toy. What’s his name again? Stiles, was it?” Kate turns around to smirk at Derek.

Fuck staying quiet, Derek roars at those words, shaking the chains around him as he struggles against them. He wants to tear off Kate’s face for that statement.

“You fucking stay away from him, or I’ll kill you.”

“Oh so you can speak! It just took a bit of poking. Who knew you were so protective of some underage piece of ass?”

"Stay away from him!" Derek roars, and Kate laughs.

"Damn, I guess I was right all those years ago," Kate muses with a wide smirk, moving to stand just out of Derek's reach. "You really a _filthy faggot_ , no wonder you kept whining about not wanting to have sex.

"Tell me," Kate questions as if they are having a normal conversation. "Do you fuck him like the mutt you are? Or do you present like a bitch to be fucked by the kid?"

Derek snarls, not answering her, and Kate tsks as she shakes her head.

"Such rudeness," Kate shakes her head again, that horrible self-satisfying and cruel smirk curling her lips. "I was just wondering if I should find a big dog to give him one last fucking before he dies, or haven't you fucked him yet? Did I train you too well? Can't get it up without a bit of pain?"

She reaches out, and digs her nails into his abs, smiling at his recoil of pain.

"He's so young, and I bet you haven't trained him properly yet," Kate muses, dragging her nails down Derek's abs, smiling more as her wolfsbane nail polish makes the lines appear a deep red, closer to truly breaking the skin, and doesn't disappear. "Not like how I trained you. I wonder, is he as eager as you were? Maybe I should forget the dog, and try him out myself, see what attracted your attention."

The chains strain as Derek lunges forward with a furious roar, trying to bite and claw at Kate, and she just laughs at him as she steps out of his reach.

“Ah, you’re so angry. It’s getting me all wet when I see you like this,” Kate states, walking further away from him and enjoying as the werewolf snarls and struggles in the chains.

“Fuck you!” Derek howls, “I hate you!”

“Don’t be so mean, sweetie. After all, once I get rid of those two, you’re gonna be my little stud. Just like old times.”

The implication behind those words have Derek sick to him stomach, the chili he ate earlier threatens to spill from his stomach. He strains against the chains once more and roars when Kate hits a switch causing bolts of electricity to go through his body.

“You like my new toy? I thought we could try it out, see how much _I’ll_ like it,” she tells him when she shuts it off, “I think it was a perfect purchase.”

She starts up the machine once more and Derek cries out in anguish as Kate turns the voltage higher.

He feels something in his chest burn, and for a moment he thinks it’s the electricity until he realizes it’s the Pack bond.

 _Please, please hurry up_ , Derek cries out through the bond. _It hurts._

“You’ve really let yourself go, huh, sweetie? I’m going to have to shave off all that hair on your body, ugh. You look like an animal,” Kate snorts at her words, “Though, I guess you are one. A stupid, animal who follows his dick around.”

“Fuck. You.” Derek gasps.

"Soon, sweetie," Kate promises with a wicked smirk. "Just need to get you ready, and then we'll see if you've learnt anything worthwhile since we last meet."

Derek gags, unable to stop himself, having to swallow down bile, and Kate pretends to pout.

"That's mean," she pretends to be hurt. "I think I need to reteach you some manners."

The switch flips higher, and Derek lets out a guttural sound of pain as he arches as the electric runs through his body. Derek twists in the chains, trying to get away from the pain, but is unable too, and his mouth drops in a silent scream.

Kate watches him with lustful eyes, the smell of her arousal thickening the air as his body feels like it's being cooked from the inside, and Derek knows he going to be sick.

For a moment, Derek's convinced that the roaring sound in his ears is just his blood rushing through his ears, or maybe his brain being cooked or something, and then the door bursts open, and his mother is there, hunched over slightly and in full Alpha form.

"Come to join us?" Kate asks lightly, almost giddily, and turns off the switch almost as an afterthought before removing her gun from the table. "You're earlier than I expected, I thought I could have more fun."

Derek slumps in the chains, panting and swallowing, and he _hurts_ so much, and Peter roars again at Kate, crouching down in the doorway, and looking like he's going to pounce at any moment.

"Mom," Derek whimpers without thinking, just wanting his mother to make the pain _stop_ , and take him _home_.

It comes out quiet, hoarse from screaming that Derek doesn't remember doing, but it's loud enough for Kate to hear.

"What did you just call him?" Kate demands, gun steady on Peter, knowing he's the biggest threat in the room.

Peter has lost all thoughts and instincts of what makes a human being, he no longer thinks about his actions or their consequences. He is nothing more than a beast with glowing red eyes at the moment.

He snarls and creeps closer, the gun pointed between his skull doesn’t have him pausing or scared.

Peter knows he is the most dangerous person in this room, Kate has nothing on him. Trauma has turned him into an unhinged _beast_ , and he will show her what a real monster looks like once he gets his jaws around her throat.

“Derek!” Stiles yells, staring in horror at the sight of the man being chained. He keeps himself hidden behind Peter, not wanting to get in sight of the firearm the mad woman is holding.

“Oh, you even brought his little boy toy. How _adorable_ ,” Kate’s grin turns dark, “You know, I can see the appeal to this one. Although, I prefer mine with a little more muscle and less brains. Better to train them.”

“Shut the fuck up, you sadistic bitch. You might as well drop the gun, the police have this place surrounded,” it’s a lie, but she didn’t have to know.

“You told the police about werewolves? Are you insane!?” Kate yells at the idiot.

“No, I told my dad. Although, you might know him as the sheriff,” he smirks at the look of horror crossing Kate’s face when she realizes she’s trapped.

"You stupid little shit," Kate snaps, not knowing if she should direct that to Derek—of all the underage pieces of ass he could have decided to chase, he chooses the _Sheriff's_ son?—or the boy toy himself as he broke one of the unspoken rules of this world.

 _Never_ involve the cops.

Kate has always hated when the cops got involved, they never understood the truth of things.

They made things unnecessarily complicated, stopped her from doing her job, and almost always took the side of the beasts like they were _innocents,_ and the Hunters were ruthlessly _murderers._

Kate grips the gun harder, unlocking the safety, and Peter growls thunderously.

* * *

Derek stares at where he can just see Stiles in horror, tugging at the chains with renewed strength.

No, _no!_

Stiles can't be _here_ , not after what Kate said about what she'd do to him.

Derek grits his teeth, trying to dig his toes into the floor to act as a lever, to pull the chains from the wall. He can feel the cuffs digging into his wrists, blood running hot down his wrists.

He needs to get Stiles out of here, away from _her_. He needs to stop her, stop her before she kills his mother, and then does her best to destroy Stiles before finally killing him.

"You think the police will help you?" Kate demands of the kid, keeping her gun on the Alpha. "They are out _there_ , and you are in _here_. I don't think they'll be able to get down here in time to save you."

"Lady, you have a gun, and I'm being protected by a pissed off Alpha werewolf," Stiles points out, keeping behind Peter. "I'm not the one that needs to be saved here."

“Stiles, you need to—to leave,” Derek struggles with the chains on him.

He’s terrified that Kate is going to hurt his mate, even if Stiles is hiding behind Peter’s massive form.

“That’s right, tell your little boy toy he’s not wanted here. After all this is a grownup talk. Shouldn’t you be in school, boy?” Kate snarls.

Stiles makes the first mistake.

He whips around the side of Peter’s body and flips the huntress off, “Fuck you!”

Kate makes the second mistake when she aims the gun and fires at Stiles, sending the teenager crumbling to the ground.

Derek feels something like a rope snap inside of him.

He _roars_ and the entire room shakes under the noise of it, there’s the tearing sound of metal and chains being ripped apart as he tears them off.

Falling to the ground on his hands and knees, Derek feels his body _shift_ not in the way that he’s used to.

It feels like all the pain, the **anger** and hatred he’s welled up inside of him has finally let loose. He looks up at Kate and no longer sees her as the woman who killed his family, the woman he once thought he loved—this was his _prey_.

Kate whips around, her mouth dropping in shock, rising the gun, but it's too late for her.

Derek already lunged, lunged with his fangs bared at the woman that hurt _his_ mate, sending them both onto the floor as the gun goes off, a line of fire skating across Derek's ribs, and Kate's scream—of fear? Of rage? Of disbelief?—is cut off into a gurgle as Derek's jaw descends down onto Kate's fragile neck.

Derek _bites_ , a wet gurgle, and then he _tears_ as he pulls his head back, and the joked about threat of ripping someone's throat out with _his_ teeth has become a reality as he spits out the blood, flesh and muscle onto the ground beside them.

Derek blinks, his body feeling _different_ , and it's like he's suddenly aware of his actions as he stares down.

Paws— _his_ paws—are holding Kate's shoulders down, her eyes are staring up blankly and her mouth is still open in disbelief perhaps, blood turning her lips red. Most of her neck is just gone, a bloody ruin and a bit of her spine is all that is left, and keeping her head connected to her body.

Derek thinks he should feel guilty as he stares down at the woman he had been convinced that he loved once, that he should feel some sort of horror for killing someone—even a monster like Kate—in such a way.

But he doesn't, can't, not when his ears still echo with the gun shot, and he still sees the way Stiles—

_Stiles!_

Derek leaps off her, wobbly landing on four legs, and he whines in a high pitch as he sees his mother hunched over the crumbled form of his mate.

Derek finds himself crouched low, like he's crawling on his belly, and he nudges at Stiles' arm with another whine of distress.

Stiles gives a ragged gasp as he tries to turn, Peter's paw-hand pressing on his chest with a growl to keep him still, and he blinks rapidly at the ceiling as another distressed whine that sounds nothing like Derek and yet just like him at the same time comes from beside him, a wet muzzle nudging at him in clear worry.

* * *

Chris comes running in at the sound of the roar, he had been staying back in case someone else had showed up. But at the sound of the roar and a gunshot he was in there running.

“ _Shit_ ,” he says, putting his gun in its holster before getting down on his knees to put his hands over the bleeding wound. “We need to get him to the hospital or he’s going to bleed out.”

Both of the wolves snarl at Chris when he goes to pick Stiles up, but the man has had enough of their attitude.

“The both of you _shut up_. Unless you can get control of yourself right now and shift back, I’m obviously the only one who can get Stiles to the hospital. Or even drive a damn car,” he growls back at them. “So shut up, and calm down while I try to save his life. And Peter, get rid of Kate’s body.”

Derek roars when Chris picks Stiles up and leaves the room, but Peter holds him down with his paw until he hears the car start up.

His mate was right, the two of them couldn’t leave this place without causing a ruckus.

Peter growls at Derek, adding a bit more pressure to where he's holding his son down, keeping him there as he hears Chris pull away, and waiting for Derek to submit as Chris' car's engine goes fainter.

Derek bares his throat with obvious reluctance, his blue gaze filled with fear and worry for his mate, and Peter wonders if he'll attempt to bolt when he's let up.

Peter stands slowly, cautiously, keeping his red gaze on his pup, and Derek sits up just as slowly, his blue gaze fixed to where Chris had disappeared with Stiles in his arms, and his ears lay flat against his head.

But he doesn't race after Chris, thankfully, and Peter nudges his pup in an attempt to comfort him before moving over to where Kate lays.

He looks down at her coldly, thinking that she had a too quick and merciful end, and then he bends down to scoop her up in his arms.

He'll take her deeper into the Preserve, let the animals feast on her, and let some hiker or someone find her.

Her gun is clatters to the ground, and Peter makes a mental note to come back for it. So far, Derek doesn't seem to be wounded, but his worry for Stiles may have blinded him from any pain.

Peter also knows that there will be a police investigation into Stiles being shot, especially considering he's the Sheriff's son, and having proof it was Kate would be another nail in the Argent's coffin.

Peter almost rolls his eyes as he notices that Derek has been inching closer to the door, trying to look innocent as he glances back to see if Peter's watching, and Peter chuffs at his pup in a chiding manner as he hoists his burden further up in his arms.

Derek looks only mildly guilty, all hunched over in an attempt to look smaller, and Peter snorts at the ridiculous image his pup looks—a massive black wolf trying to look smaller and guilty.

Derek's ears prick up, and Peter cocks his head to the side as he hears a car rumbling as it heads towards them, the crunch of undergrowth under tires getting louder.

Snarling, Peter drops the body and starts to head up the wooden stairs of the basement, Derek following idly behind him as they make it to the top.

“Holy shit!” Someone screams.

Both of the wolves turn their heads to snarl, only Peter pauses when he realizes the three strangers was actually his Pack.

He makes a small growl at Derek, who still has his hackles raised and is snarling at the three teenagers. At the sound of his Alpha’s command, Derek settles on his back legs.

“Peter!? What the hell happened to you?” Lydia asks, her voice raising in slight fear as the hulking monstrosity before her approaches them.

Peter chuffs, unable to make human noises and instead opts for pressing his nose against her shoulder to calm her.

She had already seen what he looks like partially shifted, but when he turned into this hulking mass it was a whole other story.

Jackson sniffs at the air, and immediately presses himself against Peter’s side, whining when the Alpha wraps an arm around him and holds him close.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go against your order, but I couldn’t let Lydia and Allison go here alone. Danny stayed at the apartment,” Jackson explains.

"Is that _Derek_?" Allison asks in disbelief, taking in the rather massive black wolf, and the wolf looks at her with familiar neon blue eyes "Are wolves meant to be that size?"

Derek hunches down slightly, trying to look smaller, and it's ridiculous, but it makes her give a trembling smile because the fear of seeing Peter's massive hulking form appearing out of the dusk is taking its time to disappear.

"Wolf-dog hybrids are known to stand around waist height for an average man," Lydia remembers as she absently lifts her hand to stroke at Peter's face—that's both man and wolf in the same way, and matches the idea she once had of a werewolf. "So, I suspect he's the right size for a wolf, perhaps a bit bigger."

Allison nods, and glances around with a frown as she notices her dad's car isn't there, but Kate's _is,_ and so is Derek’s—still running, and with the door left open.

A prickle of uneasy goes down her spine as she glances at Derek, and it grows because there is no Stiles coming up behind him, no Stiles draping himself over Derek with no fear and a smirk, no Stiles cooing about he had been right that Derek is just an overgrown puppy at heart.

She could brush off her dad not being there, he could be containing Kate for the police if Peter hadn't killed her, but Stiles? Stiles not being there, and not gushing about Derek's new wolf form? That's not something she can brush off as him doing something else.

She remembers during the drive over, the way Lydia pressed one hand over her mouth while the other clutched at her throat, and she remembers what she read about Banshee's, that they scream to signal a death.

It's like she's been plunged into icy water as her uneasy becomes fear.

"Where's Stiles?" Allison's answer seems to hang in the air for a moment, and then Derek's ears flatten, and he gives this distressing high-pitched whine.

Lydia clutches at her throat, remembering the trickle in the back of her throat, the urge to _scream_ , and she wonders if that had been for Stiles.

If she had screamed, would it have been Stiles' name she would have screamed? Would it be the taste of his name on her lips?

Peter grunts, and struggles for a moment with his control on the wolf before finally his form begins to shrink. It takes a while until the voice box inside of his throat to reform to that of a humans and he can finally speak. He’s still covered in fur and looking like something that walked out of a B rated horror movie.

“He was shot,” his voice is scratchy and sounds more like a low growl, like claws against chalkboard. “Chris...took him to the—hospital.”

“And Kate?”

Derek snarls at the woman’s name, his eyes glowing blue as he steps forward but not to harm, only to show off the crimson blood coating his teeth, the way it shines under the dusk light and almost looks completely black.

“So she’s dead then,” Allison’s voice is so quiet amongst the five of them.

“I know you were close to your aunt, Allison, but—“

“Fuck her,” the brunette interrupts, “She got what was coming to her. She killed innocent people and raped children, SHE’S a monster and deserves to burn.”

Allison is almost panting at the end, having basically shouted out the last sentence, and she flushes in the dim light.

She hadn't meant to shout, hadn't mean to get so worked up, and yeah, perhaps some small part of her does mourn the person Allison once thought Kate was.

Now, whenever Allison thinks about her, all she can hear is the way Kate gloated about what she had done to Derek, how she didn't see anything wrong with raping children, or killing whole families for the crime of being different.

And Allison _knows_ , knows without having to ask, that it was Kate that shot Stiles, and it makes her feel sick.

She doesn't ask how he is, doesn't know if she can yet cope with the knowledge of just how serious it is, doesn't want to know what Peter thinks his chances are, because she _knows_ how good a shot Kate could be.

She _knows_ it's bad because Derek's a wolf now—she didn't even know he could do that—and he hasn't even _tried_ to shift back like Peter has, and he's pacing slightly, his ears flat against his head as he looks down the 'road', and she suspects that it's only Peter keeping him here, and not running after Stiles.

Lydia slumps slightly, relief that Stiles is still alive—at least for _now._

"We should get to the hospital then," Jackson says as he finally pulls himself away from his Alpha, and Derek straightens, a look that could only be called _finally_ on his face.

"No," Peter growls firmly, and Derek snarls loudly, lunging forward with a snap of his jaws as he vibrates with the need to _move_ , to get to _his_ mate, and protect him, but his mother just turns his face to Derek, and growls deep in his chest. "Not yet."

Peter could understand Derek's feelings, his need to do _something_ , but there's a body below them getting colder and stiffer that needs to be taken deeper into the Preserve, there's a gun they need to secure, and then they have to change _back_ to human, dress in proper clothes _before_ they can go to Stiles.

“The three of you can head to the hospital, Derek and I need to finish up here. And then get some clothes,” Peter looks down at himself and grunts in frustration.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine here?” Allison steps closer and holds her hand out like she’s going to touch Peter, but then freezes and pulls back. She’s not even sure the man wants to be touched at this moment.

“Don’t worry about us, sweetheart. I’m the Alpha after all. Now get going before I have to drag you all back to Jackson’s car,” Peter smiles at her.

Jackson whines and pushes his face against the soft fur of Peter’s side, “Yes, Alpha.”

“Be good, pup,” Peter does his best to press a kiss to Jackson’s forehead, and watches as the three of them trudge out of the burned down Hale house.

Looking back down at where Derek was against the floor and growling softly like an upset child, Peter chuffed and then headed down to the basement to grab Kate’s body.

He didn’t give her the dignity of being carried, instead he dragged the woman’s body across the forest floor, letting twigs, bugs and animal shit collect in her hair as he dragged her.

Derek stayed away from the woman’s body, as if afraid she’ll wake up and grab him. It had Peter wonder how his son was doing mentally after seeing his rapist again.

It's something he wants to talk to Derek about, but he wonders if it's something he should leave to Noshiko and her experience to deal with.

Peter drags her deeper, away from his first Pack died, and far away from where he had once buried Laura, and where Derek once buried Laura, _again_.

Kate Argent had already lingered far too long at the Hale House, and Peter didn't want her to be found on what is legally Hale land.

Derek keeps low to the ground, hunched low and wary as he pads through the forest on silent paws, unconscious whimpers escaping his mouth as they move further away from civilisation, from _Stiles_ , and Peter walks faster, wanting to get this over and done with so he can calm his son down, and then get to his hurt Pack member.

Peter tries to remember how bad it was, but all he can remember is the way Stiles crumbled, the blood—so much blood—and the pained noises Stiles made as Peter had to keep him down.

Peter hates that he doesn't remember where Stiles had been hit, doesn't know if it had been life-threatening by hitting near his lungs or heart, or tearing into his stomach, or it had been a shoulder wound and relative minor compared to what it could be?

Would Chris remember to tell them the bullet probably contained wolfsbane? Wolfsbane wasn't just poisonous to werewolves, humans could die from it too.

Peter grunts as they _finally_ leave the Hale part of the Preserve, and he heaves the body over his shoulder to get this done quickly.

One hundred meters away from the property line of Hale family's land, Peter dumps Kate in one of the ditches that litter the Preserve, and the moment she hits the ground, some of the tension leaves Derek though he doesn't come closer.

 _One thing down_ , Peter thinks as he turns away, dropping himself onto all fours to race back to the house faster. _Now the gun, changing back, and clothes._

Peter isn't sure how they are going to get back to the den, or even in it, without being seen, but they have too.

Derek speeds after him, his wolf yipping as he realizes they’re heading away from Kate’s body. Peter grunts and groans as he shifts back into his human form, frowning at his naked form.

* * *

Reaching the Hale house once again, Peter tells Derek to go to the Camaro that is still running. The driver’s side door thrown open and the keys left in the ignition, Derek huffs and hops into his car.

He shuffles around and settles on the passenger seat, whining at traces of Stiles’ scent on the leather seats.

Peter comes back out of the house minutes later, carrying with him the gun Kate had used. He clicks the safety on before dropping it into the back seat before closing the door.

“Do you think you can focus on shifting back, Derek? I can’t let you into the hospital unless you’re human again,” Peter reminds his son, putting his seatbelt on before pulling out and driving down the trail of the Preserve.

They’ll have to head back to the apartment first to grab clothes and throw them on, which is a bit of a bump in the road since Derek is most likely going to freak out the farther they get from his mate.

It isn’t until they’re passing by the street the Sheriff lives that Peter gets an idea.

“I hope you’re okay with wearing clothes that are a little smaller on you,” Peter smirks, swerving the car around so he can head to the Sheriff’s house.

Derek gives him a look, still completely wolf, and Peter just smirks as he pulls into the Sheriff's empty driveway.

Peter turns off the engine, and opens the driver's door without worry, stepping out without shame, and knowing there is probably eyes peeking out from behind curtains.

It wouldn't be the first time that Peter has walked naked into the Sheriff's house, and knowing his luck, it probably won't be the last time.

Though it will be the first time that Peter is accompanied by a wolf.

"Come on, Pup," Peter encourages, and Derek gets out carefully from his car, trying not to claw at the leather seats, and Peter shuts and locks the door behind him.

There's a single pixie-like gnome thing by the door, a girlish figure with a hat almost covering their eyes and their tongue stuck out, and that's where Claudia always hid a spare key despite Peter pointing out that everyone and their mother would figure that out.

Claudia just laughed, said it doesn't matter if everyone and their mother knew about it, they would be stupid to break into a cop's house, and she reminded him with a smirk, she had her own tricks up her sleeve.

Peter crouches to pick up the statue, wondering if that old bat still lives across the street. If she does, no doubt she'll be enjoying the view.

A small tingle runs through his hand as he picks up the key, and Peter knows that tingle could turn into something like an electric current if someone with ill intent picked it up—Claudia still keeping the men in her life safe.

He places the statue down, he still has no idea where Claudia found the thing, and unlocks the door to the Stilinski household.

Peter's not surprised that Derek almost rushes passed him, his furs soft against Peter's bare legs, and he hears Derek dart upstairs while Peter shuts the door.

Peter doesn't bother to lock it, they'll be quick about what they need to do, and then out again.

"The sooner you are shifted and dressed, the sooner we can go," he calls out.

Derek growls as he moves past Peter and towards Stiles’ bedroom.

The moment he enters the place, he jumps into his mate’s bed and rolls around on it, wanting to cover himself in Stiles’ heady scent.

Sniffing around, Derek shoved his snout under Stiles’ pillow, and whines happily when he smells the soft sleepy residue of his mate’s scent.

Peter pops his head inside of the room, and chuckles at the sight of his son rolling around like a squirming puppy on Stiles’ bed.

“Try not to get too distracted,” Peter reminds him before leaving him there and moving to where there’s a panel on the ceiling which leads to the attic, already knowing Claudia has some clothes he wore in high school stores up there from the times he slept over.

Derek listens to the sound of squeaking wooden stairs for a moment before pulling himself out of his thoughts.

Shifting. He needs to shift back. He thinks to himself, looking down at the paws underneath him.

 _Hands. Hands. I need hands. I want to touch my mate with my hands. I can’t touch him if I have paws,_ Derek growls in frustration, his mind sounds like a cluster of childish words and animal noises. _I need to be human!_

But being a wolf was so much _easier_ , his thoughts were simple and few. All he could think about was mate, love and mate. But mate was hurt, and Derek needed to be human again to see his mate.

 _Fuck. Fuck!_ Derek growls and squirms in his own skin.

He imagines himself human again; hands, legs and feet. Short-cropped hair that Stiles liked to run his fingers through, hands that he could link with Stiles’ and hold his mate down as they wrestle. A dick that he could use to—

“Stop thinking with your dick,” Derek growls at himself, startling when he hears his own voice.

Looking down, Derek makes an inquisitive noise when he realizes he’s turned back into a human again.

Derek sits up on Stiles' bed, and runs his hand through his hair as he takes stock of himself.

The pain from Kate's attempt to shoot him has faded, there's no sign of the bullet that skated across his side, no matter how much Derek twists, and he doesn't feel like he got hit by the wolfsbane she no doubt packed into the bullet. Where she dug her nails into his stomach, leaving behind thin red lines just like she used too, had returned to Derek's normal tanned skin covered by his treasure trail.

He shudders as he remembers her _touching_ him, digging her nails in just like she used too, and quickly turns his mind away from _her,_ away from what happened, and to _Stiles_.

He remembers being curled up with Stiles as the Pack watched movies, remembers the way Stiles stroked Derek's stomach lazily, without thinking about it, and with no real intent to take it somewhere. Just Stiles _touching_ him, soothing him with his touch until Derek felt himself drifting, content and comfortable, and loved by his mate.

Derek lets out a breath, calmer, but more worried, and reaches up to rub a hand over his mouth only to grimace.

He still has Kate's blood on his face, her taste in his mouth, and he quickly heads to the bathroom to clean his face, and hopefully borrow some mouthwash.

It's strange, wrong, to be in Stiles' house without Stiles, without Stiles' heartbeat in his range of hearing, and with his scent going old, lingering.

Derek clenches his hands into fists, breathing heavily, and trying not to gag or revert back to his wolf form as he remembers Stiles crumbling, falling, possibly _dying_ while Derek had been chained, and _useless._

Fuck, it had been Chris that had to take Stiles to hospital, leaving Derek behind because he couldn't gather enough control to shift back, and stay with his mate.

Derek closes his eyes tightly, trying to push the memories away, to focus in the _now_ , and getting ready to get to Stiles.

Moving to the bathroom, Derek washes his face and hands, scrubbing them under scolding hot water as if that will erase the effects Kate left on him.

Once the blood is gone, he checks under the sink for a spare toothbrush and spends a few minutes just brushing his teeth before swishing around some mouthwash.

Finishing up, Derek goes back to Stiles’ room and finds some sweatpants that look like they might fit him, and he pulls those on. Derek frowns when the bottom of the pants go above his ankles and decides to deal with it for now.

Looking around Stiles’ drawers for a shirt, Derek growls in frustration at how tight all of them are on him.

The first one he tries is an ugly orange and blue striped shirt that he immediately throws off.

Huffing, Derek glances around before his eyes glance over to Stiles’ lacrosse hoodie that’s thrown over his desk chair. Pulling that on, Derek sighs in relief at how the hoodie at least fits him enough not to stretch.

He doesn’t even bother looking for shoes since he knows Stiles’ feet are smaller than his.

Peter comes down from the attic looking...well, he looks exactly like a teenager who is still going through his “emo phase.”

Derek can’t hold back the snort that escapes his mouth.

“Shut up, it was the best thing I could find. At least I look presentable and not like a washed up college boy,” Peter huffs.

"At least I'm actually in college," Derek points out, and Peter huffs before glancing down at Derek's bare feet.

"I'm pretty sure you can't enter a hospital without shoes," Peter says pointedly, and Derek shrugs.

"Stiles' feet are smaller than mine," Derek informs his mother, wondering if he still has that spare pair of sneakers hidden in his car.

He'd rather be wearing his boots, but the pair he had been wearing had been taken by Kate, and his other pair is back at the den, and Derek's already been apart from Stiles for long enough.

There's an itch underneath his skin, an itch that gets worse the longer he goes without seeing Stiles, and only has the memory of the way Stiles crumbled, the way he gasped as he tried to move, and Derek clenches his jaw as he pushes those memories away.

"Let's hope you have something in the car then," Peter almost sighs as he heads downstairs with his son behind him, and he can't even smile at how eager Derek is because he knows why, and he knows what awaits them.

* * *

Chris had expected there would be shots fired, he had expected having to burn wolfsbane and push it into Peter, but he _hadn't_ expected for Kate to shoot _Stiles._

Stiles, as far as Kate and everyone outside Pack and family, is a normal human teenage boy, and yet Kate _shot_ him.

Chris knows he shouldn't be surprised, should remember that Kate raped _children,_ and burnt whole families alive, that Kate believed every sick and twisted word their father ever said.

But it still caught him by surprise when he entered the basement to see Stiles lying there, bleeding out, and fair skin going deathly pale.

Stiles hadn't even attempt to resist Chris sweeping him up in a bridal carry, had only let out this little gasping sound that chilled Chris to the bone, and Chris isn't sure he had been truly conscious by the time Chris got to his car, and laid the teen across the backseats after packing the wound to attempt to stem the bleeding.

“Your sister’s a bitch,” is the first words that come out of Stiles’ mouth since he got shot.

It startles Chris from his stupor, as he hadn’t heard a peep from the boy since he started driving.

“Yeah, well that’s what happens when you have crazy siblings,” Chris sighs, speeding the car up a little as they try to make it to the hospital.

“I’m glad I was an only...child...”

“Stiles? Stiles! Shit. Stiles, you need to stay awake,” Chris almost jerks the wheel when his heart leaps up into his throat.

“M’ tired tho,” Stiles groans as he winces in pain. “This shit fucking hurts.”

“Well you _did_ get shot in the abdomen,” Chris sighs in relief when he sees the hospital up ahead. “Thank god.”

“It’s not like I asked her to shoot me! I just didn’t want her to hurt Derek, or Peter!”

“They’re werewolves, they can heal,” Chris argues.

“But what if they couldn’t!”

Chris bites the inside of his bottom lip, knowing what Stiles meant.

"You know you'll have to come up with a story, right?" Stiles asks him after a moment, trying not to let his sluggish blinking lure him into sleep.

He's tired, so fucking tired that he knows he won't even have to try to sleep, and he knows with ice-cold certainty that it's a bad sign, to be so tired.

If he goes to sleep, he knows he may not wake up.

If he goes to sleep, he may never see his dad again.

If he goes to sleep, he'll never get to really know Jordan.

If he goes to sleep, he'll never see how Lydia, Jackson and Danny resolve what happens.

If he goes to sleep, he'll never see how Lydia and Allison get together.

If he goes to sleep, he'll never see Peter actually propose to Chris.

If he goes to sleep, he'll never see Derek again.

He'll never hold Derek's hand again, or see that small smile he gives, he'll never see Derek duck his head in embarrassment as if he's trying to hide that blush of his. He'll never kiss Derek again, never spend hours lying together as they watch TV or something, he's never do _anything_ with Derek again because he'll be _dead_.

Stiles grits his teeth as he focuses on the pain, focuses on what he's about to go through to live to see Derek again, to see his dad again, to see his friends and Pack again, and tries to ignore the sleep that keeps pulling at him, calling to him like a siren's song.

Tempting, but oh-so deadly.

"I know," Chris grimaces, wishing that Peter could be with him as no doubt his mate would be able to spin up some kind of bullshit story that would be accepted.

But Chris can't think, not when his hands are slick on the wheel from Stiles' blood, not when Stiles' breathing his laboured and pained, not when he doesn't know if Stiles will live through this.

Chris doesn't bother attempt to park like a normal person, just skids to a halt outside of the doors, and throws open the driver's door.

Swinging the back door open, Chris pulls Stiles into his arms and begins to carry the boy into the hospital front doors.

“We need a doctor!” he yells, startling the night staff. Immediately one of the nurses picks up a phone and starts speaking in it, while another two leave the room. Hopefully to get a gurney for Stiles.

“Chris, this place looks funny...”Stiles slurs, his eyes fluttering a little.

“Stay awake, kid. Hey, come on. Stiles!” he shakes the teenager in his arms, sighing in relief when the gurney is pulled up and a group of nurses and doctors enter the room. “He was shot, please you have to help him.”

“Oh my god, Stiles!” One of the nurses looks horrified as she sees the pale boy. Chris remembers the woman being Scott’s mom, but the name isn’t coming to him at the moment.

“We need to get him to a surgery room ASAP,” a doctor hollers, leading them out of the front and through the hall.

“Sir, are you his parent?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to lie and say yes, but seeing as Stiles is the son of the Sheriff, that probably won’t go so well.

“No, I’m just a friend.”

“Then you’re going to have to sit in the waiting room, sir,” the nurse holds him back, and Chris is powerless as he stands there and watches.

"The bullet," Chris remembers, almost cursing himself for forgetting. "It was packed with aconite."

The nurse's eyebrows flew up in shock, but she nods firmly, "I'll let the doctor know. If you will please wait here?"

Chris nods, forcing his legs to take him where the nurse had gestured, to the small waiting room, and he sits down almost robotically.

Stiles' blood is still on his hands, and his hands almost shake as he closes them into fists as he rests his arms on his legs, and waits.

He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what happens when you bring a gunshot victim to the hospital, doesn't know if he'll be told if Stiles is alright or not as he's not family.

* * *

It feels like an eternity passes as he waits, stuck there with Stiles' blood drying on his hands, and sticking into all the creases of his palms.

"Dad!"

Chris stands up, hesitating as he sees Allison heading his way with Lydia, Jackson and Danny behind her.

He wants nothing more to grab Allison, to pull her close, and remind himself that at least she's alright, but he knows by the way his shirt stuck to his chest that he's got Stiles' blood over him, and he doesn't want to stain her with the blood of one of her best friends just for his comfort.

Allison looks like she didn't care, like she's about to throw herself into his arms anyway, but Chris stiffens when he sees the dark-skinned Deputy following behind the teenagers with a grim look on her face.

"Mr Argent?" she calls out, stopping Allison in her tracks as the teen had about to hug Chris. "I'm Deputy Graeme, I have some questions for you."

Chris' features go blank as he nods his understanding, pressing his shoulder against Allison in an attempt to comfort her, and then he walks over to the Deputy that's eyeing him suspiciously with her hands resting on her belt.

 _She thinks I may have done this_ , Chris realises with no true surprise, knowing he looked suspicious turning up with the Sheriff's son bleeding out in his arms.

“Of course, officer.”

Already his mind is supplying with him a list of explanations and lies he can tell the woman.

He’s ready for it, prepared even. He’s used to having to avoid and lie to law enforcement so he can get where he needs to be. Being raised as a hunter taught him two things, how to hide evidence and how to lie your ass off.

* * *

Officer Graeme leads him into a private room where another officer is at. Both of them looking cold and emotionless as the motion for him to take a seat.

“Are you aware, Mr. Argent that there is an investigation going on about your sister? one who has a lot of claims against her, and if she is to be caught she’d go to federal jail for a very long time?” Graeme asks him.

“Yes. I’m aware.”

“Then tell me something, Mr. Argent. Why is it that you’re bringing the Sheriff’s son to the hospital with a bullet wound in his stomach? Seems a little suspicious to me,” Graeme leans closer, “Are you hiding something from evidence? Maybe an involvement of sorts?”

“Kate did everything alone. Unless you count her burning the Hale’s alive, she did that with the help of some paid men. I don’t know exactly who, but I know she didn’t do that alone,” Chris starts off, “I wasn’t in town when the fire happened, or even on this side of the country. As for her other activities...I noticed when she came back into town she was doing things I hadn’t noticed earlier. She...she was always around the high school, just watching the boys lacrosse game and at first I didn’t notice anything of it because my daughter was dating one of the boys on the team. Until later when they broke up and I kept seeing Kate there.

Kate...Kate has always been messed up. I thought I could ignore it when I was younger but now I realize she’s a monster.”

“Why were you and Stiles together at the same area?”

“Kate kidnapped Stiles,” he lies, close to some of the truth, just a different person that was kidnapped. “The only reason I knew was because...”

“Because?”

“She mentioned to me once how she enjoyed her “men” younger, and how she...she thought the Sheriff’s son was someone who interested her. I caught her kidnapping Stiles while he was leaving his house.”

“Why were you near the house? Are you sure you weren’t there to help her?”

“ _No_. I was there because my step-son is dating Stiles, and I was coming to pick him up.”

Deputy Graeme raises an eyebrow, "Step-son? As far as I'm aware, Stiles is seeing Derek Hale, and he is an orphan."

"I'm currently seeing Peter Hale," Chris tells them, inwardly cursing slightly at his slip of tongue. "Derek is basically my step-son considering Peter is his biological parent."

There's a flash of surprise as the Deputies exchange looks, but Chris is being truthful at Peter being Derek's biological parent. It's not his fault that they'll assume Peter is Derek's father, and not the truth of Peter being Derek's mother.

Both Deputies were young, the Fire could have been before their time, and even if it isn't, six years is a long time, so Chris doubts they'll remember how much Derek Hale may look like Robert Hale.

"And where is Derek Hale now?" the Deputy asks after a moment.

"I thought it would be best if I went after Stiles alone," Chris says, trying to choose his words carefully, and not make another slip. "The Sheriff had already left, and I didn't think there was time to stop and call for him."

"And why didn't you want Derek Hale's help?" the Deputy pushes despite coming up with several reasons of her own just why Chris Argent didn't want Derek Hale there.

"Some comments Kate made, and Derek's reaction to Kate coming here," Chris makes sure to hesitate as he speaks, looking uncomfortable though it isn't hard considering what he's alluding to them. "I didn't think it would be good for him to be exposed to Kate."

Deputy Graeme's lips tighten, obviously understanding what he was alluding, and Chris is thankful that he doesn't have to say those words out loud again.

"So, you went after Stiles and your sister," the Deputy summarises as her partner continues to write it down. "What happened?"

"I confronted her," Chris tells them. "I lied that the police were on their way, that they knew what she had done before. She had a gun, she shot Stiles before I could stop her, and I needed to stop the bleeding.”

“And Kate?”

“Dead.”

The room is silent after that.

“I...I shot her,” he lies again before he can think it through. “She shot Stiles and I just reacted, after that I took Stiles and drive here as fast as I could.”

“Where will we find her body?”

“At the Hale house. She was bringing Stiles there because nobody lives there anymore. Just wild animals.”

The officers looked a little pale at that, everyone knew about the horrors of the Hale fire, and to know that she was taking Stiles there where no one could find him if anything happens.

Before any of them can speak up again, the door is slamming open and the Sheriff himself is walking into the room like a bull in a China shop.

“Sir—“

“Leave, I want to speak with Argent _alone._ ”

Neither of the officers argue with him and leave in a rush.

“Now that it’s the two of us you are going to tell me _everything_ and why I just got a call from Melissa stating my son is in the hospital from a gunshot wound.”

Chris doesn't sigh, doesn't do anything as Noah's gaze drops down to his bloody shirt, and the Sheriff pales slightly.

"Stiles followed us when we went to confront Kate," Chris tells him, and there's something almost rueful to the Sheriff's expression, as if he should have known that Stiles would have followed. "Peter went down to the basement, Stiles followed after him, and I kept watch upstairs in case Kate had backup."

Chris almost makes the mistake of running his hands through his hair, but stops himself in time with a grimace.

"I don't know what exactly happened," Chris admits, realising that his claim of where Kate's body is and that he shot her could be uncovered quickly since he doubts Peter would have thought to shoot her, and he knows that Peter wouldn't just leave her in the house. "I heard gunshots from outside, so I went in. I thought Peter got shot, I honestly didn't expect her to shoot Stiles, I swear.

Peter was in his Alpha form, trying to keep Stiles from moving, and Derek, well, Derek somehow turned into a wolf, and couldn't help Stiles much. I carried Stiles to the car, packed his wound as much as possible, and then drove here."

"Kate?" Noah demands, his eyes hard despite the slight shine to them, focusing more on the important parts than anything else.

"Dead," Chris repeats, not knowing how to feel about that yet. "Her throat was ripped out."

Noah nods, something darkly satisfied in his blue eyes, and he glances back down at Chris' shirt.

"You know that will have to be taken in evidence," Noah says, obviously trying not to think about the fact his son has been shot, and is probably going under life-saving surgery at that very moment.

Chris nods, already moving to take it off, undoing the buttons, and pulling it off carefully in a way that he can do it without having to remove or bloody his gun-holster, and thankful to get away from the evidence of Stiles' blood, of his sister's last crime, her last betrayal of the Code they were meant to live by.

“Where’s Derek and Peter? I’d have thought they would have been here now demanding to see Stiles,” Noah is trying to keep himself calm, and Chris can’t help but admire how strong this man is.

“Probably getting rid of Kate’s body if I’m to be honest. Or at least making sure no one will find it until he wants it to be found,” Chris explains, “Derek...He turned into a wolf.”

“A wolf.”

“Yes, a wolf.”

“Like a real wolf? Like the animal?”

“I’d say a little bigger than a regular wolf, his head comes up to my stomach,” Chris makes a motion.

“Jesus Christ, what are we going to have to deal with next? Someone coming back from the dead, giant lizard monsters? I don’t know if I can take any more of this supernatural shit,” the Sheriff sighs, scrubbing at his face.

“Trust me, it doesn’t get better. You just learn to deal with it.”

Noah snorts despite himself, and grimaces as his gaze drops once again to Chris' shirt now bundled in his hands, "There's a bathroom through there if you want to wash your hands, I'll hand this over to the Deputies, and see about getting you a clean top."

"Thank you," Chris hands over the shirt, and quickly moves to the adjoining bathroom, thankful that the Deputies had obviously taken over a private hospital room to speak to him.

Noah tries to not let his mind wander, tries to stop himself from thinking about the amount of blood on Chris' shirt, and what that means for Stiles' chances.

He walks over to the door, and opens it.

Tara stands from where she had been leaning against the wall, her dark eyes worried, and her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Here," Noah holds out the shirt, and Tara doesn't ask any of the questions he sees in her eyes, just pulls out an evidence bag from her pocket for the shirt.

"Should we go up to the Hale house and search for Kate Argent's body?" Tara asks as she seals the bag, holding it loosely.

Noah hesitates.

He should say yes, should send his team up there to canvas the crime scene. Hell, he should be demanding it, demanding that every inch is documented and gone over because that bitch has shot his son.

But Kate Argent's throat had been ripped out, not whatever lie Chris came up with on the shot, and Peter _and_ Derek had been there.

"Put a BOLO out for Kate Argent," Noah decides instead, and Tara's eyebrows arch.

"Mr Argent said he shot her, that she's dead," Tara tells him, and Noah grimaces slightly, rubbing a hand over his mouth, and whatever Tara sees on his face makes her take pity on him. "He must have been confused, huh? I'll get a BOLO out, and start a search from the Hale House out after securing the site. I'm sure you'll want to go over everything yourself."

"Thank you, Tara," Noah says with some relief.

"No problem, Sir," Tara tells him as she adjusts her grip on the bag. "I'll get right on that."

* * *

Peter and Derek enter the hospital shortly after that, and Chris is stuck staring at how weird Peter looks wearing the clothes he wore when he was younger.

“Is that Stiles’ hoodie?” Noah raises both eyebrows at Derek.

“Yes,” The werewolf looks sheepishly at the older man, ducking a little in his seat in embarrassment.

Noah waves him off, letting the teen have some form of relief while they wait patiently for Stiles to finish up in surgery.

Allison comes over to sit by her dad, needing the support and relaxes when Chris puts an arm around her shoulder.

Jackson leans against Derek, who has Peter on his other side. The Alpha tensing and trying to concentrate his super hearing so he can listen for Stiles’ heartbeat.

“It’s steady,” Derek says in the silence, startling everyone.

“What—Stiles? Can you hear his heartbeat?” Noah comes closer, looking a little panicked.

Derek nods, “He’s my mate, of course I can hear his heartbeat. It’s hard with all the loud noises going on, but I can hear it and it’s steady. I can’t make out what the doctors are saying.”

"Mate?" Noah repeats, wondering if that word meant what he thought it meant, and deciding to put that thought to one side, for when he isn't going insane out of worry for his son. "His heartbeat is steady? He's okay?"

Okay perhaps isn't the right word to say, not when Stiles is in surgery to save his life, but it's the only word he can come up with in his state.

"Yeah," Derek nods as Peter slips his hand in his son's, Derek's head cocked slightly to the side. "He's okay."

Noah lets out a shuddering breath of relief as he moves to sit down, and he can't stop himself from burying his face in his hands.

Stiles is okay, his heartbeat is steady, he'll pull through.

"Well done, Pup," Peter says quietly, proud that Derek could hear his mate despite the sounds of the hospital around them.

Derek blushes slightly, but keeps his attention on the slow and steady heartbeat of Stiles, the muttering of the doctors too unclear to make out, and the beep of the machine that echoes Stiles' heartbeat.

It's slower than normal due to Stiles being in an unnatural unconscious state, but Derek still knows it's Stiles' heartbeat, it's rhythm slow and even, steady despite what led him to here, and it keeps Derek grounded, anchored, to the here and now, and not long for the simplicity of being a wolf.

Danny leans into Jackson's side, not saying anything about the tight grip Jackson has around his waist as if Jackson is worried that something is going to happen to Danny if he doesn't hold tight enough.

This hadn't been what Danny had been expecting when Jackson told him that he wanted Danny to meet someone, this hadn't been what he expected after Peter Hale had been introduced to him as both Jackson's Alpha—the man that turned him into a werewolf over the weekend—and his mom—technically his biological father, but for some reason they hadn't yet told him, Peter prefers to be called mom.

Honestly? _Nothing_ about today had gone as he expected.

* * *

The last person anyone expects to show up is Victoria Argent. She comes into the hospital room alone.

“Mom?” Allison gasps the same time Chris stands up from his seat and says, “Victoria.”

“Chris...” Victoria glances over at Peter and Derek, both men have their eyes flashing and looking about three seconds from dragging the woman down the hall screaming as they rip her innards out.

“Victoria,” Peter says, sounding like a slinking snake as he says her name, “What a surprise to see you here. Come to finish the job?”

Jackson growls and Derek bares his fangs with a snarl.

“No. I...I never meant for the Sheriff’s boy to get hurt,” she says, and Peter is thrown off a little by the fact her heartbeat never skips.

“You didn’t?” Chris says, sounding shocked as well.

“You see, that’s a little funny coming from you because last time I checked you thought us wolves were nothing, but a bunch of animals. And your husband—well, no longer your husband—was a man who slept with said animals. Why have a different opinion on the Sheriff’s son? After all, you knew he was sleeping with Derek.”

Noah decides he doesn't want to know if Peter's just bullshitting Victoria about Stiles sleeping with Derek, using the term for them just sleeping with each other to allude they are having sex, or that his son—who is still underage until April—is no longer a virgin.

Victoria's lips tighten, and Peter can't tell if it's at the reminder of her divorce, the reminder that her husband left her for a male werewolf, the reminder that her husband left her for a werewolf full stop, or the reminder that Stiles is at least bisexual considering his relationship with Derek.

"Despite his unfortunate choices in partners," Victoria begins, her words almost polite compared to what they've heard her use before, "the boy is human, and wholly innocent of any crimes. We do not kill humans just because of their unfortunate decisions when it comes to....people like you."

Peter scoffs, "and the humans that were once part of the Hale Pack? The humans that burned alongside the rest of my family? Alongside the children? Were they unfortunate accidents?"

Victoria's eyes flash, and she raises her head to stand more proudly, "Despite what you believe of me, Peter. My knowledge of what befell to the Hale's came after the deed had been done, I do not condone the whole-scale slaughter of children, or children being used as Kate had a... _fondness_ for doing."

"I suppose that's why dear Jennifer was assigned to me _after_ I moved hospitals," Peter bares his teeth. "And I don't just believe, I know. I know you are the type of person that sees someone burnt, left for dead, and comatose, and still sees a threat to her marriage. I see a person who has no problem employing someone to torture said comatose person, and even get that employee to offer up my body for some friends to _enjoy_ for the right price."

A flash of something, maybe surprise, crosses her eyes, but Victoria just sneers down at Peter.

“Peter,” Chris chastises his mate, the werewolf growls but settles back in his seat, pulling Derek and Jackson back with him. “Victoria, this is a public place. I’m glad you’ve decided to get some thoughts going through that head of yours that aren’t about murder and the Hunter code. But next time, you should think about where you’re speaking. The fucking Sheriff is sitting right over there for Christ’s sake.”

Noah looks a little baffled at the whole situation, at the moment he couldn’t care less if there was a shootout. He was too worried about his damn son.

“Chris—“

“Don’t. Thank you for coming to apologize on the behalf of Stiles getting shot, but why don’t you do us all a favour and just fucking leave town?”

Peter makes a noise of shock at that, he hadn’t realise Chris was finally growing a spine and putting his foot down.

Allison wouldn’t even look at her own mother, she didn’t know what to say or do.

Victoria's jaw clenches slightly as she stares at Chris.

"You think I _want_ to stay here?" Victoria finally asks him, her voice almost a hiss. "Despite what you want to act like, Allison is still _my_ daughter—"

"You signed away your parental rights to her in the divorce," Chris reminds her, narrowing his eyes on his ex-wife. "And even if you didn't, Allison is old enough to choose what she wants, and she has."

Victoria's expression sours at the reminder that it had been Allison's choice to go with Chris, and move in with Peter.

"You don't have to stay for here if you don't want to," Chris continues as he watches his ex-wife while Lydia takes Allison's hand, making Victoria's eyes narrow with something like disgust despite herself, and Chris shakes his head. "If Allison wishes to have contact with you, she has both your number and e-mail. Just leave, Victoria."

Victoria tears her gaze away from where Lydia is holding Allison's hand, the younger redhead staring up at her defiantly, and looks back at Chris with something like pity.

"I am an Argent," she reminds her ex-husband. "When I married you, I swore an oath, I became an Argent in all the ways that matter. With this latest blunder, I presume that Kate is dead."

Chris narrows his eyes, a chill going down his back as he nods.

"You should know what will happen when that gets out, when the rest of the family find out," Victoria shakes her head. "Gerard will be on his way, and I need to stay here until he either relieves me of my duty or gives us our orders."

"Gerard oversteps himself," Chris says harshly, trying to push back the fear his father instilled in him young. "It's the women that are our leaders, and the men are our soldiers."

"It may have been like that in your grandparents time, but we both know that is no longer true," Victoria's voice is soft with something like pity. "You should prepare for his arrival, Chris. He is already unhappy about the divorce."

"You can tell Gerard, the next time he comes into town he'll be shot on the spot. He's already ruined so much of my life, and I'm tired of taking his shit."

Victoria's jaw clenches as she digest the words her ex-husband has spoken.

Nodding her head, she looks over at her daughter once more and her heart clenches at the way Allison won't even look at her anymore.

She misses the child that would fill up the rooms with laughter, and was never afraid of anything.

And now that was all gone, and the only one Victoria really had to blame was herself.

"Goodbye, Chris."

"Victoria," Chris gives her a nod.

Once more, the woman glances over at her child and feels a well of tears begin in her eyes, she blinks them away, and leaves.

The silence that engulfs the room is choking. Allison makes a noise, before getting up to leave the room through another door where the vending machines are.

Derek gets up to follow her, but stops when Lydia is already breezing past him. Getting the hint, Derek holds Jackson back from following and gives the teenager a look when he tries to argue.

"Just give her some time to process everything," Derek tells the blond.

"Fine," Jackson grumbles.

Jackson leans back in his seat, only not crossing his arms so he can hold Danny's hand.

Chris sighs as he scrubs his hands over his face, wanting to go to comfort his daughter, and normally, he would have gone after her, but he didn't think he was the right person at the moment, and is glad that Lydia is going after her.

"Your father will not be happy," Peter says quietly from beside him.

"I don't care," Chris tells him bluntly, turning his head to watch his mate, and trying to ignore the phantom feeling of pain in his leg—the leg his father broke in at least two places after he caught Chris kissing Nicolai—that always plays up when he thinks about his father too long, and Peter looks darkly amused.

"Yes, I believe we heard just how much you don't care," Peter says with some amusement, before sobering and looking at him seriously, a trace of fear in Peter's blue eyes that Chris wishes he could erase. "He won't listen, he'll come, and you know it."

Chris exhales deeply, knowing Peter is right.

If Chris simply divorced Victoria, just divorced her, than Gerard wouldn't have cared too much.

But Chris hadn't, Chris had divorced her, and publicly began a relationship with a man, had not attempted to hide his _sickness_ any more, and people _know_ that Chris is a homosexual relationship.

That would be bad enough in Gerard's eyes, enough to get him disowned, and probably end up with a legal battle on his hands as Gerard tried to wrestle custody of Allison away from him at the very least.

But no, Chris had done something worse than that.

He had gone back to _Peter_ , he had re-entered a relationship with a werewolf, and not a Beta that Gerard could easily break and bend until nothing remind of Peter, till it would have been a _blessing_ for Gerard to kill as an example of why Chris could _never_ allow his _sickness_ to be known again.

No, Peter's an Alpha, an Alpha with a Pack, a Pack that killed _Kate_.

If there was one thing Chris knew about his father, it was that the man was like an old dog with a bone. Never one to give up without a fight.

“Shit,” Chris curses at himself, “I guess we should be prepared for the all-out war we’re going to get when he shows up.”

Peter bristles at those words, the knowledge that another clan of hunters will be entering his territory have him wanting to shift and gnash his teeth.

He knew they weren’t strong enough to handle that kind of thing, they didn’t have the amount to add up to how many hunters would be kicking down their front door.

His wolf was pushing for him to gather more wolves, to offer the bite to those who would help. But he would have to speak with his mate and Pack first, there was already so much they needed to know and learn.

Sighing, Peter turns his face, so he can nose against Chris’s throat and calm the storm of anxiety inside of him.

One problem at a time.

* * *

Allison scrubbed at her face as she walked around the corner where the vending machines were, not caring that any of the wolves could hear her, she just didn’t want to be surrounded at the moment.

“Allison?”

Looking up, Allison feels herself straighten up as she sees Lydia approach.

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to get emotional. It’s dumb. I’m fine, we should go—“

“It’s okay to cry, Allison. You don’t have to hold it all in,” Lydia takes her hand in her own.

Allison's bottom lips trembles traitorously as she looks down at Lydia's hand holding hers.

Lydia's hands always feel so dainty in hers, small and soft in a way that Allison's aren't.

Allison's hands are thick with callouses from years of archery, from gymnastics, from learning the basics hand-to-hand combat, from learning to hold and handle knives during camping trips, from rock climbing.

A life time of lessons, of carefully selected hobbies, all to stealthily teach her all the skills she would need to be a killer, a murderer of innocent people, of families, whose only crime was being _different_.

A life time of her mother carefully grooming her, manipulating her into hobbies, pushing her to be the best.

It _hurt_ , hurt so much, to look back on her life with her new understanding of what her family _really_ does, and see just how her mother tried to mould her into a Hunter without tipping her off to the truth.

Allison remembers the box of old hobbies, of her brief periods when she tried to be an artist or a poet or something silly like that, and now she wonders if she just got bored of them on her own, realised that she didn't like them or wasn't good at them on her own, or if her mother subtly pushed her away from the hobbies that wouldn't help her in becoming the perfect Hunter her mother had obviously attempted to raise.

Allison doesn't _know_ , and that almost frightens her which is so _dumb_.

Her family killed people for generations! Her aunt raped children and killed whole families! Her mother arranged for Peter to be tortured and raped!

And here she is, getting all upset because her mom may or may not have stopped her getting into silly little hobbies? What's wrong with her?

"It's stupid," Allison says, biting her lower lip to stop it trembling.

It's stupid, as stupid as her mother's fucked up apology, an apology only given because her mother thought that Stiles is wholly human, a worthless apology that just showed how _awful_ she is.

“It’s not stupid, Allison. Your family is basically getting torn apart right in front of you, and you don’t know how to feel because well...you probably didn’t want it to happen in the first place.”

Allison looks at Lydia, “How...”

“My parents are going through a divorce, now I see my dad whenever he feels like it. I know I don’t act like they aren’t yelling at one another every day, but it still hurts the same. To know what it’s like to watch your parents destroy this happy childhood you had. Even if you want to argue about it, you can’t say they didn’t both love you. Even if it was in their own way.”

Allison knows Lydia is talking about her mom, and it makes her shake. Leaning forward, Allison wraps her arms around Lydia and sobs against the redhead’s shoulders.

“I don’t want to lose my mom, but she just...she...”

Lydia shushes her, “I know. I know.”

Allison clings to the beautiful redhead, shaking her head and wishing Lydia didn’t know.

"She's _my_ mom," Allison says in a tone like it's wretched painfully from her. "And I can't get over how—how _evil_ she really is. I thought I had been happy, I thought despite them not being in love, we were still _happy_. But we weren't, and she lied about so much, and she doesn't see how wrong she is. And it _hurts_ , she's meant to be my mom, meant to be on _my_ side, and she isn't! She's on the side of murderers and rapists, and she _helps_ them!"

The worlds spills from her, leaving her mouth between heaving gasps as she tries not to sob, and it _hurts_ to sum up all her crazy feelings into words.

Lydia holds her tight, stroking a hand up and down Allison's back as the older girl shudders against her.

"She's my mom, and she's helping the people that want to kill Peter, to kill Derek," Allison continues, feeling like she's unable to stop. "And Kate was my aunt, I thought of her like a _sister_ , and she raped _children_ , raped _Derek_ , and she shot _Stiles_. And he could die, he could die because of _my_ family, and my mom is only sorry because he's _human_."

"It's not your fault," Lydia tells her firmly, fiercely, and Allison shudders with a gasping sob because it _feels_ like it's her fault, or at least part of it is. "It's their fault, not yours. You are _nothing_ like them."

Allison wants to shake her head in denial because some part of Allison _must_ be like them, some part of her deep down is probably just like _them_.

Her family legacy is drowned in the blood of thousands, of innocents people alongside the guilty.

Her family name is so feared in the supernatural circle, amongst werewolves, that common folklore and legend thinks silver— _their_ name—is poisonous and deadly to werewolves.

Allison hates that, hates that a whole group of people live in fear of _her_ name, that every time her name is mentioned they'll think of death and hatred, and Allison doesn't want _that_.

"I don't think I want to be an Argent anymore," she realises numbly.

“I’m sure Peter is planning to change that in a matter of months,” Lydia jokes, earning a chuckle from Allison.

“I still can’t believe Peter wants to be with my dad, after everything that’s happened. He’s stronger than me,” Allison wipes away her tears.

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re a strong person Allison, crying doesn’t make you any less of a strong person,” Lydia looks at the smile on Allison’s face and decides to just...to just try something.

Leaning forward, Lydia presses a light kiss to Allison’s forehead, running her hand down the brunette’s hair before pulling away.

“You’re stronger than you think you are, Ally,” straightening back, Lydia gives the other girl a nervous look before leaving her alone with the thrumming noise of the vending machines.

“I...” At a loss for words, Allison turns to look at the vending machine hoping it’ll answer her questions.

When it doesn’t, she sighs and buys herself a Snickers bar before going back to the waiting room.

* * *

Melissa walks into the waiting room and suddenly everyone is standing up.

“Noah, your son is in stable condition. The doctors are putting him in a room right now. Only _immediate_ family can come into the room,” she gives them all a pointed look.

Only Danny hesitates and sits back down, tugging Jackson down with a roll of his eyes as his best friend and new boyfriend immediately turns to hiss a compliant at him.

Danny ignores Jackson's offended look as he turns to Lydia.

The redhead purses her lips, but slowly returns to her seat with Allison sitting next to her, and worrying at the wrapper of her chocolate bar as the brunette waits anxiously.

Chris squeezes Peter's hand, shaking his head when Peter turns to argue, and Peter huffs as he allows Chris to pull him down, and back into their seats.

Derek freezes, hesitating between going over to Melissa and retaking his seat.

 _Everything_ in him is demanding he goes into the room, that he needs to be close to his mate as possible.

He wants to climb on Stiles' bed, curl around him protectively, and keep away anyone that could harm him.

But he _can't._

This is a human hospital, and Derek has to play by human rules.

And human rules say immediate family, humans don't recognise things like mates, don't understand the need to feel Stiles' skin, to hear the beat of his heartbeat with nothing between them, to _know_ for sure that Stiles is _alive_ , that he's going to be _okay._

Humans will see Derek as just his boyfriend, someone not important to go in when it's restricted to family, and Derek will have to wait for Stiles to wake up, for doctors to allow other visitors in before he can see with his own eyes that Stiles is okay.

Derek feels sick, his skin feeling tight and too small as his wolf howls for their mate, and oh god, it'll be more than a few hours, won't it? It'll be at least a day before Derek will be able to see him.

And all Derek will be able to remember is the way Stiles crumbled to the floor, the pained sound he gave off.

"Derek?"

Derek's head snaps up and he stares at the Sheriff almost desperately.

"Come on, son, Stiles is waiting," Noah tells him, and his heart clenches as he watches Derek's face crumble with relief.

“Thank you, sir. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to make it up to you,” Derek is by Noah’s side in an instance, wanting to see Stiles immediately and make sure his mate was okay.

“Well, you can start by dropping the sir, and just call me Noah.”

“Yes, si—Noah,” Derek rubs at the back of his head when the older man chuckles at him.

“Be good for the sheriff, Pup,” Peter tells him, watching as the two of them follow Melissa to Stiles’ room.

* * *

The whole trip there, Derek is holding back the urge to just go and hunt his mate down.

He has to make sure Stiles is okay and safe, wants to beg for forgiveness for dragging his mate into this whole mess the first place, and then hold Stiles against him.

Honestly, if Derek could have it his way, he’d lock Stiles up in Peter’s apartment so his mate could be safe forever.

“Son, I’m gonna ask have you to calm down. I can feel you crawling out of your own skin.”

“Sorry,” Derek ducks his head, “I don’t know how you can be so calm about this. I’m about ready to crawl all over the walls.”

“Trust me, I’m panicked as hell. But I’ve been through hell and learned how to keep myself calm in the face of panic. Something you learn when you’re the sheriff,” Noah explains as they enter the elevator.

"It probably also helped having Stiles as a son," Melissa says in teasing tone, relief that Stiles made it through the surgery making it almost easy to tease.

Noah snorts in agreement as Melissa presses the correct button, "When you come home to your son holding a lizard that he stole while trying to figure out where it came from, so he can send it 'home', you learn to take things in stride."

Claudia had been absolutely no help, no, she had been sat beside Stiles, and had been looking through the books with him.

Noah still remembers the slightly guilty looks on their faces when they looked up to see him looking at them, the guilt had been overshadowed by defiance though as Stiles clutched the lizard, that had been reported stolen just a few hours ago, to his chest protectively.

 _"I freed him from unjust captivity!"_ Stiles, seven-years-old, had immediately defended himself, using wording that Noah is still certain that he heard from Peter as it had the same dramatic flair that Peter's always been known for. _"I could not leave him to waste away in that cage! I would be no better than his cruel master!"_

 _"Look at the state the poor thing is in,"_ Claudia had immediately coaxed at him. _"They obviously don't know how to look after the poor thing properly."_

In the end, the previous owners were fined for animal cruelty and banned from owning reptiles, the lizard found a new home in a nearby zoo, and the 'joke' file of Stiles' criminal activity began.

Peter had been so proud of Stiles' entrance into the 'criminal underbelly' of Beacon Hills, that he got Stiles a cake, and any attempt of grounding Noah did ultimately failed due to both Claudia and Peter.

Noah had to get creative with punishing his seven-year-old son for breaking and entering, _and_ theft, and he thought he found it when he signed Stiles up for scouts.

Only to find out when he dropped Stiles off at his first meeting that Bobby Finstock was scout leader.

Derek snorts, “I can believe that. Stiles is...he’s his own kind of chaos.”

Noah makes a noise like he’s studying something interesting, and when Derek looks up he freezes when he realizes Noah is looking at him with this hard look.

“Well, I hope you’re happy living with said chaotic mess for the rest of your life. Stiles seems _very_ attached with you,” he crosses his arms, putting on his “stern dad face” as Stiles liked to call it.

Derek stutters with his words for a moment, before straightening up and telling the older man, “I would lay down my life for Stiles.”

“But would you live for him?”

The words shock Derek for a moment, and he doesn’t get an explanation out of the Sheriff because the elevator is ringing that they’re on the right floor.

* * *

Following behind the two adults, Derek swallows down his anxiety as they enter Stiles’ room.

The first thing that comes to Derek’s mind when he sees Stiles is that he looks so _small_ in the bed. Derek is the first to be at Stiles’ side, and he’s pretty sure it has to do with his supernatural speed more than anything else.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he chokes, grabbing his mate’s hand and immediately sucking any pain from him, whimpering when Stiles doesn’t wake up.

Stiles just lies there, the bed keeping him propped up so he's not lying flat on his back, and he's so _still._

Stiles is _never_ still, always moving, buzzing with more energy than his body can keep up with, his mind always whirling away. Hell, he doesn't even stop moving in his sleep.

It should have been irritating, it should have made Derek snap in annoyance despite them being mates, but when they are together, Stiles seems to turn his inability to be still into not being able to stop touching Derek, to not being able to stop absently stroking some part of Derek, or running his fingers through Derek's hair, or _something._

Not just lying there, being so still, looking so pale like _Laura_ had been when Derek found her, and the fact that Stiles' hand is so cold in his makes the likeness much too real for Derek.

Derek wants to recoil away from Stiles, away from the reminders of Laura's death, and the reminder of how close Stiles had been to death, but he stubbornly keeps hold of Stiles' hand, keeps pulling at the pain that Stiles isn't awake to feel, so that when Stiles wakes up (he _is_ going to wake up) he won't be in so much pain.

Stiles' eyes are shut, not restless movement of the eyes behind the lids to show he's dreaming or drifting awake, a tube has been put into his nose and taped against the side of his face.

The make-up that had been covering Stiles' neck had been washed off, the marks that he had been so proud of leaving on Stiles now makes him want to flinch as they look grotesque against Stiles' too pale skin, the glint of Stiles' necklace under the harsh light just bringing more attention to Stiles' bruised neck.

The drip in Stiles' other hand is connected to various bags of fluids and even blood, the heart-monitor clipped to his middle finger, and letting the machine beep in time to the slow and steady beat of his heart.

Derek hates seeing Stiles like this, so _still_ and _small_ , and looking so fragile.

It's all Derek's fault.

“Oh, kiddo,” he hears Noah sigh as he drops down to sit next to Stiles, taking his sons hand in his own to give it a squeeze. “Never thought I see the day where Stiles could actually sit still, and it’s because he was shot.”

Flinching at those words, Derek grips the railing on the bed so tightly that it bends under his hold. He wants to crawl up on the bed and take all the pain away from his mate. Derek should be the one to suffer, not Stiles.

“I can tell you’re beating yourself up, stop it Sourwolf.”

Derek startled at those words, looking up he feels a whine escape his throat when he sees Stiles smiling at him goofily.

“Stiles—god, I—“

His mate squeezes his hand, “Hey, shhh, shhh, it’s okay big guy. You’re going to run yourself into a panic if you don’t calm down. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Son, I don’t know if you remember, but you got shot in the stomach not too long ago,” Noah gives his son a look.

“Trust me, I won’t be forgetting, that shit hurt. I hope it doesn’t scar, that would be weird to explain to people.”

"Sorry, honey," Melissa comes over, a smile of relief curling her lips as Stiles looks at her, his eyes slightly unfocused due to the painkillers he's on. "But the bullet had been packed with wolfsbane, your system needed to be flushed out as much as possible as the surgeon made sure nothing had been punctuated, torn and such by the bullet, _especially_ considering how fatal wolfsbane is. You'll scar, but it won't look like a bullet wound."

"Huh, I suppose that'll be fine then," Stiles says agreeably, with only a slight frown on his face. "Scars from surgery is easier to explain then a bullet wound scar."

Derek tries not to whine again as he realises that his mate will be forever scarred by what happened.

"You know, I expected to be in more pain," Stiles looks down on himself thoughtfully, to where he supposes his wound is covered by both the surgical dressing and the hospital gown, and having to resist the urge to poke at it.

It didn't really feel real. He means, yeah, he felt sore and weak due to losing so much blood, but the burning pain in his gut is gone, and he's not bleeding everywhere, so Stiles could almost convince himself that he hadn't been shot, and he was in the hospital for some other reason.

He doesn't let himself, he could, but denial won't help him, and would probably damage his mental health. Something that wouldn't help anyone, not when Derek's unhealthy guilt-complex is already trying to twist this all into being his fault instead of Kate's because she's a crazy bitch.

So, yeah, Stiles has been shot, he probably almost died, and now he's in a serious lack of pain that he wants to poke at his wound—okay, maybe Derek isn't the only one with issues.

"You're probably on strong painkillers, kiddo," Noah squeezes his hand fondly, the action feeling weird to Stiles because he's almost convinced he could feel the needle of the IV in his hand move. "That's probably why."

"Huh," Stiles acknowledges, stroking at Derek's soft hand absently.

Stiles looks over at Derek again and smiles dopily at the older man, “Dude, I saw you turn into a furry puppy earlier! Oh my god, please tell me you can do it again cause I wanna cuddle with you like that. Not that I don’t already want to cuddle you, I _always_ wanna cuddle with my cuddle wolf—wow, I said the word cuddle a lot.”

“And he’s back to his normal talkative self,” Noah shakes his head, “You’re going to give me grey hairs, kiddo.”

“Don’t be ridiculous dad, you’re not going to get grey hair until you’re in your fifties. Us Stilinski men have good genes,” Stiles argues, and then turns to look at Derek. “Derek also has good genes, the best genes. Dad, Derek is like super-hot, wouldn’t you agree? I still can’t believe he’s my boyfriend, he’s like _way_ out of my league.”

“Yep. I think it’s time for me to go back to work, or else I’m going to have to listen to him talk in great detail about things I don’t want to know,” Noah stands up and wipes his pants off, “I’ll let Peter and the others know they can come in.”

“Daaaaaad, remember to eat healthy! I have eyes on you, I know where you go and where you eat,” Stiles tries to make the “I’m watching you” motion with his hands but it comes out very sluggish.

Noah snorts as he reaches out to scrub a hand over Stiles' hair, "I'm sure Jordan will make sure I'm eating healthy."

"Good," Stiles decides firmly before frowning, "why can I feel something in the back of my throat?"

"You have nasogastric tube," Melissa explains, her lips twitching at the almost comic amount of focus Stiles is displaying towards her words. "It's to remove fluid, blood or any air from your stomach."

"Huh," Stiles blinks as he reaches up to touch where the tubing has been taped to his face, and Derek gently takes his hand, and Stiles looks at him again, a look of dopey affection and happiness that makes Derek flush. "You're wearing my hoodie."

Derek nods, his throat feeling tight.

"You look good in it, much better than I do," Stiles tells him earnestly. "Not that that is hard, and you look good in _everything_. But I think you look best in that soft jumper of yours, and you should get more of them."

"Good luck," Noah says to Derek, clapping his hand on his shoulder for a moment before turning back to his son. "You be good, I don't want to hear that you've attempt to escape, or lead a revolt against any of the nurses and doctors."

"I could make a cavalry group with the wheelchairs," Stiles muses, and Melissa glares at Noah for giving Stiles the idea before which her glare to Stiles.

"You will not, you will stay here, and rest until the doctors see you," Melissa tells him sternly. "And then you'll listen to what they say, and do it until you are discharged."

"I should be discharged now," Stiles argues making Melissa glare harder while Noah decides it's best to get out of the way before they truly get started. "I'm not in pain."

"Stiles, you are a cocktail of drugs to deal with the wolfsbane poisoning and antibiotics, hell, you are still getting a blood transfusion," Melissa points out bluntly. "You are _not_ going anywhere till the doctor clears you to be discharged."

"But I want to cuddle Derek!" Stiles whines.

Melissa sighs, sounding like a woman who’s used to Stiles acting like this.

“You can cuddle Derek later, sweetie. First you need to get better, if you don’t get better you won’t be able to cuddle Derek,” she explains to him.

That seems to work, because Stiles sits up a little, “That makes total sense,” he nods his head.

Derek can’t help the snort escape from him at those words. Stiles turns his head to give the man a fond smile, and his head tilts back against the pillow.

“Mmmh, comfy. But not as comfy as when I’m in bed with my Derbear,” Stiles sighs.

“Derbear? Oh, I am going to have to use that now,” Peter teases as he enters the room, sitting down next to the bed and taking Stiles’ other hand to give a squeeze. “How are you doing, Stiles?”

“Mmmh, Peter? Hey, Pumpkin Peter, I was wondering when you were gonna show up. You creeper.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

"I see you are getting the good stuff," Peter says with some amusement as Derek finally sits down instead of hovering, though Peter notices his son is pulling pain that Stiles can't feel in his state, and he wants to sigh.

"Yep," Stiles pops the 'p' then spends some time just popping his lips before turning to look at Derek with a look that's quickly becoming familiar: dopey adoration and goofy happiness. "Derbear."

"That's not a thing," Derek tells Stiles in a too fond tone to be taken seriously, still trying to come to terms that Stiles is _okay_ , and doesn't blame him, and Stiles pouts at him.

"It is," Stiles insists as the others trickle into the room, each of them bearing their own plastic chair to sit on after Melissa showed them where they are stored. "You are my Derbear, because you're cuddly like a teddy bear."

Jackson snorts, trying to hold back his laughter, and Derek glares at his younger brother.

"Jackson!" Stiles greets cheerfully as the blonde drops his chair next to Derek's. "Have you popped any more knots yet?"

Jackson chokes, almost flopping back in his chair, and his face turns bright red as Peter looks at his son.

"My baby has popped his first knot?" Peter asks dramatically, and impossibly, Jackson's face seems to get redder as he buries his face into his hands. "I'm so _proud_."

"And you thought I was an embarrassing parent," Chris mutters to Allison before placing his chair beside Peter's, and putting a hand on Peter's knee. "You take too much joy in embarrassing your sons."

"I'll need to take you to the sex shop, get you set up with supplies," Peter continues after flashing a truly evil smile at Chris, and Jackson groans.

"There's supplies for _knotting_?" Danny asks in disbelief as he sets his chair beside Jackson's, Allison placing her chair next to her Dad, and then Lydia beside her, all of them somewhat circling Stiles' bed.

"Of course," Peter tells him. "It's always important to have safe sex."

“Mmmmh, we should totally fuck when we get home, Derek,” Stiles giggles, “Fuck. Fuck is such a fun word. More people should say it.”

Shaking his head, Derek leans down to kiss Stiles’ cheek and pet the side of his mate’s face.

“Stiles, you should get some rest.”

“M’not tired tho,” Stiles mumbles, leaning into Derek’s touch, and sighing.

It’s a lie, and Derek knows it. He can already hear Stiles’ heartbeat start to slow down as sleep comes to him.

“He’s adorable when he’s sleeping,” Peter comments, tucking the blankets under Stiles’ legs so the human will stay warm.

Derek grunts and holds back the urge to crawl into the bed with his mate and cuddle him.

God, he just wants to hold Stiles in his arms and scent his mate, but he’s too afraid that he’ll hurt his mate again.

He contents himself with scooting his chair as close to the bed as possible, pushing down the railing on the side, and he clasps Stiles' hand in between his as he rests his elbows on the bed, feeling each breath that Stiles takes.

It's not what he wants, or what all his instincts insist that he _needs_ , but it's _enough._

It's enough to press his lips against Stiles' hand, to feel the warmth slowly flood back in, to feel the brush of blankets and flimsy hospital gown against his forearms as Stiles breathes easily and untroubled.

Stiles may not smell completely right, won't smell right until Derek's properly scented him, and Derek can't cuddle him like he wants to, can't curl around his mate protectively while Stiles heals, but it's still Stiles' hand in his, it's still Stiles breathing and _alive_ , and that makes it enough.

"His nose twitches like a bunny's," Lydia's lips twitch as Stiles' nose does exactly that, and Derek finds himself so damn relieved that Stiles is _moving_ , twitching, in his sleep like normal.

"You'd think Derek's nose would do that," Jackson teases, obviously trying to pretend his moment of embarrassment hadn't happened, despite the pink still lingering on his cheeks. "Considering his bunny teeth."

Derek doesn't even bother to glare at his brother, can't work up any of the frustration he so easily invokes in Derek—that special frustration that only siblings can invoke—not when he's too relieved by Stiles being okay to really care.

"Ah," Peter wags his finger at his youngest son. "You can't deflect attention to your brother, not when I know you've knotted for the first time."

"Mom!" Jackson flushes deeply again, looking desperately at Chris in attempts he'll put a stop to this talk like he normally does, and Chris sighs as he turns to his mate.

"Must you do this here?" Chris asks, taking pity on Peter's youngest son, and Peter gives him a look.

"How else am I meant to get all of them to listen to the safe sex talk?"

“There’s safe sex talk for werewolves?” Lydia raises an eyebrow.

“Of course there is! How else are we gonna prevent one of them from getting pregnant?”

“Wait, guys can get pregnant?” Danny’s eyes widen at that, and he turns to Jackson before saying, “You’re wearing a condom.”

“What if I’m the one getting pregnant!?” Jackson argues.

“Then we’ll both wear condoms!”

“Boys,” Peter huffs at the both of them and rolls his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. Truly, only Jackson would be the one who can get pregnant. And if you both are _safe_ and wear condoms then you’ll be fine.”

Derek holds back the laughter building up inside of him. He looks over at his mate again and runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair, while listening to Peter give the kids the werewolf version of safe talk.

"Now, like I said, it's possible Jackson to get pregnant," Peter settles into his uncomfortable plastic chair to lecture properly. "No one knows why male born werewolves, or in Jackson's case, bitten werewolves that are born to a werewolf parent, can get pregnant. Perhaps it's the way we've evolved to keep our numbers up, maybe it's because werewolves have never been concerned with the gender of our partner or mates that we've evolved in such a way. Who knows?

But the fact of the matter is there's a possibility of Jackson getting pregnant if you aren't _safe_. Unlike our female counterparts or those that are simply born female, we do not have a monthly cycle to inform us of the possibility of being pregnant," Peter continues as Lydia looks almost annoyed that she doesn't have a notebook to take notes in, and Jackson is flushing despite them not even getting into anything embarrassing, and Danny looks like he's going to commit everything to memory to make sure he doesn't accident knock up Jackson, all the reactions are rather adorable in Peter's opinion, and he's almost sad that Stiles is sleeping, and he'll not hear all the interesting questions he'd no doubt ask.

"That's because the womb we have isn't exactly a physical part of us," Peter continues, not going into the unpredictable nature of falling pregnant, of not knowing when it's going to happen or if your body is ready for it.

"So, what? It's a magical womb?" Danny asks with faint disbelief, and Peter almost smiles because he's taking it rather well despite his disbelief.

"Basically," Peter shrugs as he agrees. "And that's what makes it unpredictable, magic often does what it wants."

Something one only had to look at Stiles to know that, Stiles is a creature of magic in a different, purer perhaps, form than werewolves.

Yes, werewolves are magical, yes, they have their own rituals, but their magic almost solely effects _them._

Stiles' magic extends his will, his magic, to effect _everything_.

It's that difference that makes Peter hesitate in saying that it's impossible for Stiles to fall pregnant like Derek can. _Especially_ considering that Stiles is a Spark.

Other magical users would need to do a ritual, to prepare their body for such a pregnancy as it's not something natural to them, not something their magic will naturally change for them like werewolves.

Stiles, on the other hand, would only have to believe in it, to believe in the possibility, and if his magic decides and takes idly wondering and belief of the possibility, then idly imaginations become all too real.

So, no, Peter will not say it's impossible for Stiles to become pregnant, and it’s why he made a point to include both types of condoms in Derek's goody box.

* * *

“Ugh, this is the worst thing,” Jackson grumbles, his face burning red from embarrassment.

“Your telling me,” Danny huffs, also looking like a tomato.

Derek rolls his eyes at them, his ears also have turned red but unlike them he’s able to keep a level head because he doesn’t want to freak out.

Sure, it’s awkward hearing Peter give them the safe sex talk, that also includes fun things like knots and biting and whatever else with happen with a werewolf.

“Well that was fun,” Peter claps his hands together, finding amusement in the red faces of the teenagers in the room.

“For you.” Chris chuckles, patting Peter’s shoulder. “It’s getting late, we should probably head back to the house and get some rest. For all of us.”

He gives a pointed look to Derek, but the werewolf just glares up at him.

There's a strong instinct in Derek, an instinct to almost crouch down and snarl, to cover Stiles' defenceless body with his own, and growl deep in his chest.

It's not exactly new, it's an instinct he's familiar with, yet it's _stronger_ and with a desire to shift completely, to use everything his new shift gives him to stay and protect his mate.

And it just adds to his anger, fanning it until he's almost furious that Chris would suggest that Derek just _leave_ Stiles, to leave him _alone_ and defenceless.

Derek can feel his lips curling up, curling into a snarl, and his chest vibrating with a soft growl that can and will become louder as he glares up at Chris.

" _Derek_ ," Peter says firmly, letting a hint of Alpha seep into his tone, and Derek stops the growl, but his lip remains curled into a silent snarl. "Sit down."

It's that suggestion that makes Derek blink out of his anger, and he realises, somewhat startled, that he's leaning over Stiles' sleeping body, his chest almost brushing Stiles' since he's covering Stiles so protectively.

Chris hadn't even blinked at Derek's sudden show of aggression, hadn't even twitched towards his gun—a change from the beginning—and Derek is somewhat embarrassed by his reaction, perhaps it's an overreaction, but he still has this thread of protective anger in him.

"Derek," Peter repeats, no Alpha power needed, just a mother's tone that makes Derek stiffly sit back in his chair, retaking Stiles' hand, and stubbornly—perhaps somewhat ashamed—not looking at Peter.

“I—sorry,” Derek sits with his shoulders tensed and hunched over a little.

He feels horrible for having just the slightest urge to attack Chris, all because the man said they needed to leave.

“I understand how you feel, Derek. But—“

“I know,” Derek clears his throat, “I just—I don’t think it’s safe to leave Stiles here by himself.”

“There’s a bunch of doctors and nurses here who can keep watching him,” Jackson argues with a snort, which doesn’t help, because Derek sits up and flashes blue eyes at him.

“Just because they’re on the medical staff, doesn’t mean one of them isn’t working for the fucking Argent’s. What if Kate or Victoria left some people to work in here? And while nobody is watching, they’ll come in and kill him—or—or—“

Derek looks at Peter, eyes pleading because he knows his Alpha understands what he’s trying to imply.

Derek is terrified at the moment.

He knows realistically, Kate was dead but the fear of _what if_ lingers inside of his mind, and he’s so scared that she’s going to come back from the dead and burn Stiles in his sleep.

Sighing, Peter nods his head, “Fine, you can stay. But I don’t want to hear about you causing anyone problems.”

"I won't," Derek promises, some tensing leaving him as he squeezes Stiles' hand in his.

Peter doesn't like this, he doesn't like the idea of leaving Derek alone when Derek's running more on instinct than anything, and Peter isn't clear just how much Kate has affected him both emotionally and mentally.

He also doesn't like the idea of leaving Stiles alone, to leave a hurt Pack member defenceless in a hospital. It struck to close to home, to his own trauma, and he knew what Derek had been implying when he couldn't finish his question.

_What if they rape him like they did you?_

Peter could argue that he had only been raped in the other hospital, that this hospital isn't the one in his nightmares, but that isn't much of an argument, nor is that Stiles isn't in the same state that he was, that Stiles has a better chance to wake up and fight them off if it happened.

But that doesn't make it better, doesn't make the idea that it's very possible it could happen less repulsive to him.

Peter, ideally, wants to keep his Pack together, keep them safe in the den where they can regroup and Stiles can heal, but Stiles needs human doctors, and isn't fit to be discharged yet.

It goes against his instinct to have Derek away from his side, out of his sight and outside of his hearing range, so soon after he was taken from Peter. But he knows it would be harder for Derek to go against his instinct to protect his mate if he made him leave Stiles, and he knows that if something happened to Stiles during the night while Derek wasn't there, that his son would never forgive him.

So, despite his instincts saying no, Peter agrees his pup can stay.

There's a short knock on the door before it's pushed open by a dark skinned Deputy.

She takes in the group of them with a raised eyebrow, lips tightening slightly with unspoken worry and concern at the sight of Stiles before focusing her attention on both Peter and Chris.

"Deputy Graeme," Chris greets, somewhat surprised.

Depute Graeme nods, "The nurses want me to tell you that visiting hours are over, and the Sheriff only got permission for two people to stay. I'll be sitting outside the door just in case Kate Argent comes back," her lips twist in a way that she's doubtful about her words, "or any of her accomplices, and Deputy Parrish will be coming soon to sit in here."

That relieves some of the tension in Peter, that Derek will not be alone in his vigil over Stiles.

Derek twitches when he hears Stiles’ older brother will be coming along.

He doesn’t dislike the guy, but he’s pretty sure given the chance Parrish would kick Derek’s ass to next week to protect his younger brother, and Derek would let him too. If he ever hurt his mate, Derek was positive he’d hurt himself because Stiles didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Sighing, Derek gives Stiles’ hand a squeeze once more before settling back in his chair. He watches the soft glow of the lights and how they make Stiles look so soft, like an angel that fell to earth.

And angel that for some reason loves Derek and gives him the time of day when no one else would.

Getting comfortable, Derek takes a spare blanket from the closet in the room to throw over himself before settling back in his chair.

He falls asleep to the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat and doesn’t wake up for a while.

* * *

It goes against all of his instincts, all the instincts that make him an Alpha, to leave both Derek—his pup that had just been kidnapped, who had just come face-to-face with his abuser—and Stiles—his Beta that had been shot right in front of Peter, and he hadn't been able to do _anything_ despite being the Alpha—alone at the hospital, but it's a human hospital and human rules apply.

So, Peter herds the rest of his Pack—his _family_ —out and back to the cars.

Chris' SUV is gone, taken for evidence—and Peter hopes that Chris got all the permits for his hidden cache of weapons, or the FBI will be looking more closely at Chris than at the true Hunters in Beacon Hills—and they split between Derek's car and Jackson's for the drive back to their den.

Peter makes sure the pups retreat to their rooms—Allison and Lydia in Allison's, Jackson and Danny to Jackson's newly claimed room—before he realises that there's still much to clean up at the scene.

He needs to remove all traces of Derek's presence, track down where Derek's phone is—hopefully still at the Stilinski's house—and do something with Kate's gun before the FBI and the Sheriff's department combs over it in the morning, and start poking holes in the story they’ve come up with.

In hindsight, Peter should have left the gun where it fell, but it's too late to think about that.

He has a gun in Derek's car that has both Kate's and his own fingerprints on it, the gun that had been used to shoot Stiles, and he needs to figure out what to do with it.

He has a list of things to do.

Remove any traces of Derek being from the scene, get rid of the gun, track down the rest of Derek's belongings—and if possible, steal some more of Stiles' things to move him more firmly into Derek's den—and gather a bag for Derek for the morning.

He should probably cook something as well, Derek will probably not think to eat in his worry over Stiles, and it's so easy for a werewolf to accidentally starve themselves.

"Hey," Chris grabs Peter's hand, breaking him from his whirling thoughts.

Carefully, like Peter is one wrong move or word from breaking, Chris tugs him close and wraps his arms around him, holding him close and forcing Peter to still from his anxious pacing.

Peter resists for a moment, resenting the careful way Chris is handling him, before relenting as he slumps into his mate's body, and hugs the older man back.

"It's going to be okay," Chris tells him, turning his head so he can press a kiss to the side of Peter's head. " _We're_ going to be okay."

Peter laughs bitterly, tucking his face against Chris' neck, "Not if your father has anything to say about it."

Peter has never had the.... _pleasure_ of meeting Gerard Argent, but he's heard the stories, and Peter _had_ seen Deucalion after the supposed peace summit—the summit Talia refused to support, which is one of the few smart judgements Talia made as their Alpha.

Gerard Argent is the Boogeyman of the supernatural community, and it is a reputation that he _earned_ in the death of thousands, of the blood of innocent and guilty alike, and marked by that broadsword he still carts around like it’s the Middle Ages, and the supernatural community were still uncivilised and as prone to waging war as their human counterparts.

The Code that Chris had so dearly clung to for so long is not a code that Gerard Argent had any use for, and Peter is still surprised that Gerard allowed Chris to act under a Code that Gerard himself obviously didn't believe in.

No, from the rumours and warnings spread throughout the Community, Gerard either downright ignored it when it suited him, twisted things to fit the Code, or provoked whoever he's hunting into breaking the Code so he could wet his blade on supernatural blood.

Hell, Gerard Argent is the reason why Witches still worried about being _burned_ despite the fact that no witches—or supposed witches—were burned during the Witch Trails on American soil.

Chris' arms tense around him, pulling him closer, _tighter_ , "I won't let him touch you."

“Promise?” Peter teases, leering at the hunter who only snorts.

“For you? Always,” Chris leans forward and kisses the Alpha.

Someone gags behind them, and Peter turns to see Jackson making gagging noises at them.

“Stop acting like a four-year-old. You and Danny were sucking face earlier today, I don’t see the difference,” Peter huffs.

“That’s because Danny’s hot. Anyways, I just came for some water,” Jackson keeps walking towards the kitchen.

Chris chuckles and shakes his head at the teenager and Peter just glares at his son until he leaves the room.

“I still need to clean up the mess at the house before the cops show up, and make sure there isn’t any trace of my son there,” Peter tells the man.

“I’ll help, if there’s one thing I learned about being a hunter it’s how to hide evidence.”

“Thank you, Chris,” Peter leans in and kisses his mate once more. “Come now, time waits for nobody and cleaning up a murder scene definitely isn’t going to disappear if we keep touching each other.”

* * *

They take Derek's car again, the black blends into the darkness well, and it doesn't bring as much attention as Peter's more flashy car.

Chris' SUV would have worked too, but unfortunately it's part of the investigation going on into Stiles' shooting.

The tracking app Peter has shows that Derek's phone is, thankfully, at the Stilinski house, and lets Peter relax somewhat as that would have been the biggest clue that Derek had been involved in this.

They'll swing back to the Stilinski house after dealing with the clean-up.

Peter drives them to one of the side-lanes against the Preserve, and Peter leads Chris to one of hidden entrances to the tunnels.

Peter lets Chris take the lead with his torch as he's sure there's still mountain ash from the fire, Peter only directs Chris in the right direction as Chris keeps an eye for mountain ash.

Stiles' blood is heavy in the air, easy to track to the basement where Kate kept Derek, and Chris has to break two mountain ash lines—Peter is honestly surprised there isn't more—and then they are back in _that_ room, the broken chains hanging from the ceiling that had been used to restrain _his_ son.

Peter's fangs drop automatically at the sight and the lingering scent of Derek's fear, of Stiles' blood.

"I'll remove the cuffs," Chris says quietly, "leave the chains behind, let them think she was going to use them on Stiles. You look for the remains of Derek's clothes."

Peter nods shortly, not wanting to let on how thin his hold of control is as he hunts down Derek's clothes.

The scraps of his jeans from when he full-shifted are easy to find, to bundle up and put in the re-usable shopping bag that Peter remembered to bring.

He finds Derek's boots—with his socks tucked inside—tucked behind the metal table in the room, and it's only as Peter stands that he notices what's on the surface.

A tray of gleaming blades and torture tools, and spread across the rest of the table is a collection of sex-toys.

Peter stills.

“Peter?” Chris’s eyes land on what the werewolf is staring at, and he cursed under his breath. He grabs the tray that the items are on and shoved them away. “She’s dead now. If you need to go outside and cool down, you can.”

Peter swallows, fist clenching as he blinks away the red in his eyes.

“If that bitch wasn’t dead yet, I would have fucking ripped her to shreds. I—my poor boy. That stupid cunt got her hands on my son—I—ggggrrrr...” Peter snarls, walking away so he can work on getting rid of the shackles.

Chris removed the toys, holding back the urge to gag as he touches them. It was disgusting to think about what Kate would have done if they didn’t get there in time.

Peter didn’t speak another word as they continued to clean up the rest of the mess, only leaving the bits of Kate’s and Stiles’ DNA so the police knew something had happened, after everything was cleaned up, they left before the cops even came down the drive.

* * *

Chris takes the keys from Peter as they approach Derek's car, knowing that his mate isn't in any state to drive.

Peter doesn't argue, just slips into passenger's seat after Chris unlocks the doors.

"Home?" Chris asks softly, and Peter shakes his head.

"The Stilinski house," Peter murmurs softly back, and Chris nods as he pulls out onto the road, and he drives towards the Sheriff's house.

The quiet is tense as they drive, and Chris doesn't bother to ask if Peter is okay, because that's a stupid question.

Nothing about what happened is okay, nothing about what they found was okay, and Chris didn't want to push the younger man when he's obviously barely holding onto his control.

"Her gun is rattling around in the back," Peter tells him quietly as they pull onto the Sheriff's street.

"I'll get rid of it," Chris tells him as he pulls up and onto the empty driveway of the Sheriff's house.

He'll get rid it along with the torture tools and sex toys, he'll destroy them as much as he's able before either burying them or throwing them in a river, or something.

Peter nods, still quiet, and gets out of the car.

Chris follows after him, locking the car behind him as Peter loops easily up to the front door, and pulls out a key from his rather tight-looking jeans.

Chris doesn't need the flash to the past that Peter's current outfit is inspiring, he doesn't need the somewhat guilty arousal it invokes at the memories of sixteen-year-old Peter Hale.

Peter enters, inhaling and searching for Derek's scent to hunt down his son's belongings, and exhales a puff of laughter as the strongest scent comes from beside them and he sees Derek's leather jacket hung up neatly on a peg.

Neither of them had even noticed it when they came here to hunt for clothes earlier.

He'll pick up the jacket on their way out, Peter decides as he follows his son's scent straight upstairs, and to the obvious place for it, Stiles' room.

Derek's phone and keys are sat innocently on the bedside.

Peter slips the both of them into his pocket before glancing around Stiles’ room with an assessing gaze.

“I take it we’re taking more than just Derek’s things?” Chris asks quietly, his voice still hushed to not break the terrible silence and stillness that has overtaken Peter since the basement.

Chris doesn’t know what to say, what to do, and he doesn’t know if there is _anything_ to say or do that could possibly help, not when Peter saw for himself hints of what Kate had been planning to do to _his_ son.

“I’d prefer to move Stiles fully into our den,” Peter says, his voice equally as quiet as Chris’.

It would be safer, for both Stiles and Derek as Peter knew that Derek wouldn’t—couldn’t—be able to leave Stiles for a whole night.

And Peter would feel more secure, more content, with them in the den when Victoria confirmed what Peter has been quietly dreading.

Gerard is coming to Beacon Hills.

“We can take more of his things, make it feel properly like his and Derek’s room, but I don’t think either Stiles or Noah would be pleased if we moved Stiles in completely without their input,” Chris points out reasonably, and Peter knows that, but hates it at the same time.

Peter nods before pursing his lips.

There is one thing that Peter isn’t leaving the house without taking, and that’s the large steamer trunk in the attic where Peter knows that Claudia hide her magical equipment, books and other such things in.

No doubt Noah has forgotten about it—that’s if he realised that when Claudia called herself a practising witch that she hadn’t been joking—and it’s things that Stiles will need in learning more about controlling his Spark.

Stiles may not be a witch, but Peter is sure that Claudia’s Grimoire and other books will help Stiles more than Peter can with his sparse collection of magic books.

He'll need all the help possible with Gerard on the warpath, and heading right towards them.

* * *

Stiles wakes more slowly the second time, wakes to the sound of constant beeping that will quickly annoy him, and to the sound of someone shifting next to him barely covering the soft sounds Derek always makes in his sleep.

Stiles screws up his face as the pain he had been expecting earlier makes itself known, and he can't help the hiss escaping him as he shifts on the bed.

"I got it," Jordan's voice is familiar, comforting, but unexpected, and there's a click before numbness quickly overtakes his pain, and Stiles brings himself to blink his eyes open, eyes adjusting to the dim and soft light of the hospital room before turning his head to look at his brother.

Jordan looks tired, still dressed in his Deputy uniform by with his shirt unbuttoned somewhat and showing off more than a hint of the white vest he wears underneath, and he's smiling somewhat worriedly while holding onto the button that obviously controls the good stuff.

"Hey," Jordan greets softly, glancing over him, and most likely to where Derek's dozing. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Stiles croaks out, his throat dry and sore, and Jordan's smile turns sympathetically as he reaches out for the paper-cup on the over-bed table, bringing it up to Stiles' lips, and letting Stiles have a few ice-chips to suck on to sooth his throat.

"Stiles?" Derek's voice is rough with sleep, and Stiles is already smiling as he turns his head to his boyfriend, watching the werewolf stretch himself out of the awkward position he had been sleeping in.

"Hey, Der," Stiles greets after pushing the ice-chips to the side of his cheek, and there's something almost frantic in the way Derek reaches out for his hand, in the way his eyes scans Stiles' face.

It's somewhat obvious that Derek isn't coping as well as Stiles is with Stiles being shot. Which is somewhat fair as Stiles just remembers Kate being a bitch, Stiles being Stiles and shooting his mouth off, _actually_ getting shot for it, and then pain—unlike Derek, who probably remembered _a lot_ more with addition of whatever crazy Kate spouted off before they got there.

“I—are you okay?” Derek asks, reaching to take Stiles’ hand but then pulls back.

Stiles rolls his eyes, and grabs Derek’s hand, “Commit to it, asshole. Anyways I’m doing fine, besides getting shot—and before you get on your podium of ‘Self-Guilt and being a Marty’ it’s not your fault. And it was never your fault in the first place.”

Derek opens his mouth, but shuts it quickly when Stiles glares at him.

“Therapy. So much fucking therapy for you after this. I’m talking loads of therapy.”

Jordan chuckles at that and shakes his head, “At least you’re not groaning in pain.”

“Honestly, I can’t even feel the pain,” Stiles admits, it just feels numb.

Derek scratches at the back of his head, and gives Stiles a small smile.

Stiles squints at Derek because yeah, the good stuff had to have numbed the pain, but there should be _some_ lingering soreness, right? But there isn't.

Stiles has prided himself on being able to read Derek's expressions, of getting Derek to trust him enough to _use_ expressions around him, and there's one expression that he's found that Derek's very bad at.

That expression? False innocent.

Stiles glances down at Derek's hand in his, and he's not surprised by the veins of black disappearing under the cuff of the hoodie that Derek decided to borrow from him—which is a strange turn of events considering its normally Stiles borrowing Derek's clothes.

"You know I'm on drugs, right?" Stiles asks Derek seriously, stroking his thumb against Derek's hand, rubbing over one of those black veins. "Like, the good stuff? So, you don't have to do this, okay?"

Jordan frowns, glancing over his brother's body in interest, and raising an eyebrow at the dark veins disappearing up Derek's sleeve, and Derek bites at his inner cheek as he lowers his gaze.

"I want to," Derek tells Stiles quietly, stroking Stiles' hand back. "You're in pain."

"I'm also on really good painkillers," Stiles reminds him, not wanting to pull away from Derek because he knows that Derek needs to the comfort, and Stiles isn't going to lie, and say he didn't need the comfort of the touch, but he will if Derek doesn't stop with this.

Not that he doesn't like not being in pain, but he's pretty sure that when Derek pulls his pain, he takes it in himself, and that's not on.

Because yeah, Derek probably doesn't want Stiles in pain, but he also probably is using Stiles' pain in some way to punish himself due to his horrible guilt complex—which is _so_ not on.

Derek frowns slightly, not wanting Stiles to be in _any_ pain, but he also doesn't want Stiles to be unhappy with him.

“Derek, I’ll be fine. But you need to take a break from the mojo drain, okay big guy?”

“Okay,” Derek sighs, sounding more reluctant than he should.

Smiling, Stiles leans forward to press a kiss to his mate’s lips, and grins when Derek kisses him back.

When he pulls away, Stiles squirms a little as he get comfortable against the pile of pillows against his back and turns to Jordan.

“So, how’s it been going for you? I don’t think I’ve gotten a lot of time to just hang out with my brother,” Stiles runs a hand through his hair, humming as he feels the buzzcut growing longer.

Jordan shrugs, “Mostly just getting used to working in Beacon Hills, it’s not the same as my old place. There’s a lot more mysterious dead bodies than I’d like there to be.”

“Dead bodies? What dead bodies?”

Jordon squints, “You haven’t heard? There’s been a couple of bodies that were found dead, they labelled it as an animal attack but in my opinion it’s way too clean to be such a thing.”

Stiles makes a face at the reminder, "Two guys, right? Found in the Preserve?"

Jordan nods as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, looking a lot like their father in that position.

"Yeah," Jordan agrees, frowning slightly as he stares somewhere to the mid-distance, obviously remembering the scene. "They were savaged, like you would expect from an animal attack. But the wounds were too clean, no sign of an animals attempting to feed on organs or flesh."

"So, murder made to look like an animal attack?" Stiles offers, chewing on his bottom lip in thought.

The photos of Laura's body showed jagged wounds, the wounds definitely looking like a typical animal attack.

So, not a werewolf with the new bodies.

And definitely not Scott then, because the wounds would have definitely been jagged and out of control, which means that Scott probably just attacked some poor animal that night—not that _that_ would soothe Scott as he’d probably feel worse for having probably savaged Bambi or Thumper.

"Not according to the coroner," Jordan grumbles before grimacing. "Or I suppose the ex-coroner."

Jennifer hadn't been the only arrest that they made tonight—or rather last night, Jordan corrects with a glance to his watch to see it's after midnight—which would make the next few days busy considering the cells are almost full, _and_ they had the FBI to deal with.

Dad—Noah—had cut the team leader off before he could say anything, and teamed up the FBI with the local Deputies while going after a good number of Argent people that Chris told them about.

Corruption, interference in police matters, accessories after the fact to murder, obstructing police investigation, and so on for most of them.

"So, all the recent deaths will have to be reopened, and looked at again?" Stiles asks after a moment to digest that he had been _right_ that someone in the Coroner's Department had been messing with official reports.

“Probably. Unless we can get the hunters to confess right away,” Jordan sighs, running a hand through his hair before stating, “I kind of miss when my life wasn’t full of supernatural mysteries.”

“Aw come on, admit that you think this is more fun. You were probably bored out of your mind in your old precinct,” Stiles jest lightly.

Jordan gives him a look, “I’m not going to answer that.”

“Man, I took all the fun genes in the family.”

Jordan gawks at that, “I can be fun! I can totally be fun! I used to throw the best parties in college.”

“Hmmm, key words. _Used too_. Now you’re just a party pooper,” Stiles smirks.

Derek sits back and holds his hand up as he states, “I’m not getting in the middle of this. I’m just here for my boyfriend.”

"Which means he's totally on my side," Stiles says smugly, making the other two snort, and Stiles pouts at Derek.

Derek smiles slightly as he reaches out to retake Stiles' hand, still feeling more than some relief when Stiles immediately threads their fingers together.

Stiles is _alive_ , Stiles is _awake_ , and Stiles _doesn't_ blame him.

Derek still doesn't know what to think about the last bit, that Stiles doesn't blame him for what happened when it is obviously Derek's fault.

If Derek hadn't been so _stupid_ , if he hadn't gone outside alone when Peter told them to stay _together_ , then Kate wouldn't have been able to take him—and he's _not_ thinking about what she said, how she _touched_ him, nor is he remembering the rows of shiny torture tools next to _sex toys_ like they go together—and then Stiles wouldn't have had to come after him, wouldn't have gotten shot.

"Hey," Stiles squeezes Derek's hand, breaking him from what he could tell was spiralling thoughts, and Stiles tries to hide his worry with a smile. "Think you could fit up here with me? I want to cuddle."

"Melissa already said you have to wait for cuddles," Derek reminds Stiles, but he scoots his chair closer and leans over to press his forehead against Stiles' shoulder.

"I suppose I will have to content myself with this then," Stiles says in a put-out tone, and he carefully lifts his other hand with the IV needle in—and the heart monitor on his finger—to cup the back of Derek's neck, watching and feeling his boyfriend shudder underneath the touch. "Hey, I'm okay. You can't get rid of me that easily."

"I don't want to get rid of you," Derek mutters against Stiles' hospital gown, looping his arm over Stiles' lap. " _Ever_."

"That's good," Stiles tries to keep his tone light, playing with the small hairs at the back of Derek's head. "Because you're stuck with me."

Derek turns to rub his cheek against Stiles' shoulder, trying to drown out the scent of _others_ , sickness, and hospital.

Jordan watches the way Derek falls into Stiles’ touch and simply melts under it.

If no one had told him about the existence of werewolves, Jordan would have thought of Derek as a giant cat.

But now all he sees is a mythical creature—that’s usually portrayed as a monster in media—who is curling under Stiles’ hand like a giant puppy.

He guesses that there isn’t much to worry about Derek dating his younger brother, since Stiles has the werewolf wrapped around his fingers.

Literally.

Sighing, Jordan checks the time and scrubs at his face, “It’s almost four in the morning, I’m going to grab some coffee. Derek, you want some?”

“That would great, thanks.”

“What? I don’t get any?” Stiles grumbles.

Jordan points at the IV in his arm, “Sorry, kid, but Melissa told me you weren’t allowed to have any because it’ll mess with your medicine. And she scares me more than you.”

“Coward!”

Jordan just snorts as he stands up, reaching to scrub a hand over Stiles' short hair, and smiling at the pouting look his little brother is giving him.

Jordan doesn't think he'll _ever_ get over the fact that he has a little brother.

"Don't let him do anything stupid while I'm gone," Jordan tells Derek making the werewolf snort as Stiles gives an exaggerated gasp that turns into a hiss of pain, and a push of the button as Derek's head snaps up in alarm.

"I'm fine," Stiles waves off, holding the button in his IV-ed hand, and Jordan gives him one last worried glance before leaving for the hunt of coffee, and letting Stiles turn to his boyfriend. "I'm fine, painkillers just wore off. One click, and I'm good as new."

Derek's scowl says he doesn't agree with Stiles’ words, but at least his boyfriend didn't attempt to pull the pain again despite looking tempted.

Derek can do his mojo when Stiles is no longer attached to a handy button that will give him almost instant pain relief, but _only_ then.

Stiles drops the button next to him, making sure that it doesn't fall off the bed, and then reaches out with his newly free hand to cup his face.

"I'm okay," Stiles promises as Derek's eyes flutter close, and Derek leans more firmly into Stiles' hand, a hand coming up to hold Stiles' against his face. "Just going to heal a lot slower than you're used to."

"You weren't okay," Derek frowns, not opening his eyes, just nuzzling against Stiles' hand, and ignoring the clip of the heart monitor. "You were _shot_."

"I know," Stiles sighs, slipping his hand to the back of Derek's neck, and giving him a gentle tug, Derek returning his somewhat uncomfortable looking position that lets Derek nuzzle and rest his cheek against Stiles' shoulder, and Stiles squeezes the hand he is still holding. "But I'm still alive, I'm going to heal, and I'll have nothing but a scar to show for it."

“I wish you could heal quickly like werewolves do, then you wouldn’t have to deal with scars,” Derek mumbles, and presses a soft kiss to Stiles’ skin.

“It’s fine. Besides, I’ll look like a total badass when I take my shirt off during lacrosse practice,” Stiles smirks at the thought which gets an eye roll from Derek.

“Yeah, a skinny little nerd with a bullet scar. Sexy.”

“Shut up, you know you want me,” Stiles pushes, laughing when Derek snaps at his fingers.

“Last I remembered, I definitely wanted to ‘get up all on your body’,” he makes air quotations and smirks when Stiles slaps his arm.

“I love you, you asshole,” Stiles grins, freezing when he realises what he said.

“You...you love me?” Derek swallows, noting how Stiles’ heart never skipped a beat.

 _Fuck, abort, abort, ABORT_ , races through Stiles' mind as he stares at Derek with his grin half-frozen into a grimace.

The thing is that Stiles can't really abort, he can't try to salvage what he just said as a joke, because instead of laughing it off Stiles froze, because he's an idiot that doesn't think before he speaks.

It's too soon, Stiles _knows_ that.

He's only really known the real Derek for about three weeks, they are barely in the second week of their relationship, so yeah, it's too soon.

Fuck, it probably had been too soon to have sex—even if it's not penetrative sex, it's still _sex_ , and still a big deal—especially with Derek's issues. But well, sex happens— _a lot_ in their case.

But like his dad said to Jordan and Derek—though Stiles doubts they realised the real point of dad's little story of how mom took one look at the new Deputy, and declared him as her future husband—Stiles is like his mom, and once they choose someone, once they meet 'the one' then they throw themselves in with their whole body, heart and soul.

Claudia Gajos, at seventeen, had taken one look at Deputy Noah Stilinski and she knew he was the one for her, and she had ruthlessly pursued him until he realised the same thing, and had proposed to him the moment she turned eighteen despite Noah making them wait till she was twenty before they married as he didn't want to rush things.

Stiles Stilinski, at seventeen, had taken one look at Derek Hale in the Preserve, and any thoughts of his old crushes fled from his mind and heart.

Stiles Stilinski, at seventeen, only had to have one proper conversation with Derek Hale to realise how fucking _special_ Derek was to him.

Stiles Stilinski, at seventeen, after little over a week of dating—without _any_ actual dates which Stiles needs to change as soon as possible—is in love with Derek Hale.

"Yeah," Stiles swallows, reminding himself that he's Stiles _fucking_ Stilinski, he just took a bullet while saving Derek. "I do."

Derek feels a smile grow on his face as he pulls Stiles forward so he can kiss his mate.

“I love you too,” Derek admits, “I love you so fucking much that it hurts to not be around you.”

“Stop sounding so poetic, I can’t even think right now cause I’m getting horny and high on meds,” Stiles grumbles, pulling Derek in for another kiss which has the man laughing, “No, don’t laugh. Wait, no I mean you should definitely laugh because you deserve good in your life, but also I want more kisses.”

Someone clears their throat, and the two boys pull away from one another in an instance. Derek blushes when he realises Jordon has walked back into the room, and ducks his head.

“You are in the hospital for getting shot, Stiles. There will be no sex in here,” Jordan glares.

"No coffee, no cuddles, no sex," Stiles grumbles as Derek sits down on his chair, and tries not to look like he had been just making out with the Deputy's younger brother. "What's next? Am I not allowed to get up and have a piss by myself?"

"Well, Melissa did say we have to call a nurse if you need to go," Jordan tries not to snort at the look on Stiles' face at that as he holds out Derek's coffee.

"I am not pissing in one of those weird bottle things," Stiles informs them all firmly, glaring jealously at Derek as he doctors the coffee—probably terrible because it's hospital coffee—with sugar and such. "I will be getting up, and going to an actual toilet."

The older men snort as they sip on their coffee, Stiles glaring at them harder.

"That's the spirit, Stiles," Melissa says as she enters, obviously working overtime—something Stiles knew for a fact as Stiles memorised her shifts. "You'll need that."

"Melissa, you look as lovely as ever, and yet you are here," Stiles squints at her as Melissa takes his hospital chart, and began writing things while looking at his heart monitor and such. " _Why_ are you still here?"

"I don't know, Stiles," Melissa decides to tease him, glancing over the chart to look at him dryly. "Perhaps it has to do with you being shot? Perhaps I don't trust other nurses not to cave into you if they give you a chance to argue?"

 _And perhaps I no longer trust my fellow nurses to look after you after Noah messaged me about Peter's nurse_ , Melissa thinks, but doesn't say as Stiles gasps dramatically.

"You think I would ignore your orders? That I would attempt to manipulate your fellow nurses in possibly allowing Derek to share my bed, and cuddle? Or that I would mention how Deputy Parrish has been _so_ busy that he hasn't even had a chance to explore Beacon Hills, hopefully getting several young nurses to delay him, and thus leaving me alone to have my wicked way with Derek?" Stiles demands of her as Derek almost chokes on his coffee.

“Stiles, please,” Derek almost sounds like he’s begging at this point.

“Ugh, fine. Leave me to die of blue balls, I see how it is,” Stiles whines and flips back against the bed, “It’s bad enough that I have to suffer without coffee. I’m going to be an absolute monster.”

Jordan looks at Melissa, “I thought you said he was on pain meds, how is he still talking like a cocaine junkie?”

“Hey!”

“Unfortunately, the only way we have found to get him to shut up is when he’s sleeping, eating or passed out,” Melissa sighs.

“Or I have Derek’s dick—“

Derek slaps a hand over Stiles’ mouth, eyes turning blue as a warning that his boyfriend needs to shut up before he gets them both in trouble. Stiles does the most mature thing he can think of and licks his boyfriends hand.

“Ew,” Derek pulls his hand back only to wipe it on Stiles’ face, earning a shout and laugh from the teenager.

Stiles wheezes slightly as he leans back in the bed, trying not to wince as his abdomen complains with a sharp pain though the way Derek frowns as he cups Stiles' face shows he can't hide from werewolf senses.

"I'm fine," Stiles tells his worried Derek, covering Derek's hand with his. "Laughter is somewhat painful at the moment."

"Considering you were opened up, and flushed out, I'm not surprised," Melissa remarks as she flips Stiles' chart closed, and places it back. "Now, this is going to hurt, but no doubt you need to go toilet."

Stiles grimaces, but he had been serious when he said he isn't going to pee in one of those weird bottle things.

And Melissa had been right, it _did_ hurt.

Stiles' abdomen protested painfully as Melissa and Derek helped him up from the bed, and then every step he took with Derek helping him to the bathroom sent another sharp pain through his abdomen.

But Stiles is stubborn, so he just grits his teeth, and glares at Derek whenever his pain seems to magically lessen until the werewolf frowns and stops pulling his pain, letting the painkillers still in Stiles' system take the edge off.

Stiles needs to get used to the pain, and he _really_ needs to pee.

He will not be defeated by a few measly steps! Nope! No way!

He’s Stiles _fucking_ Stilinski, he survived being shot by a madwoman, he’s in a werewolf Pack, he’s _fucking_ magic, and he _will_ pee in a proper toilet!

Standing to do it may be too much for him, but still! Proper Toilet!


End file.
